


Away to Me

by Crysania



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, sheep boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-25 18:48:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 106,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2632457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crysania/pseuds/Crysania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gold lives on a sheep farm on the outskirts of Storybrooke, Maine. He has always managed the farm on his own until his ankle is crushed in a terrible accident. Fellow sheep farmer David Nolan sets out to find someone to help Gold around the farm and stumbles across Belle French, desperate to find a job to help out her ailing father. She starts just doing odd jobs around the farm, but takes a keen interest in his relationship with his sheepdogs and so he takes her under his wing and teaches her the art of herding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It has been exactly two weeks, three days, and some four hours since he returned from the hospital, ankle shattered, life in shambles. He knows this because everything changed the day of the car accident. He had only been going out for a small trip to the nearby town. It was an easy drive for him, one he made often enough that he barely had to pay attention to the road. It was especially scenic on his way into town, the drive down out of the rural area he lived in a beautiful reminder of just why he chose to live in the middle of nowhere, Maine.

He had always loved it here, far from the rest of humanity on his small farm. It was quiet, peaceful, the kind of place one could escape to and not see another soul for days unless he wanted to. Gold was that kind of person. Oh, he wasn’t the sort who needed the peace and quiet for something like meditation. He wasn’t one of those yoga loving yuppies one met in town. People didn’t like him. And he didn’t like people. In town, people pulled their children away from him, warned them of his temper, warned them not to cross paths with him for fear it might anger him, warned them that he hated people and was best left alone.

He was near-legendary in the small town. Places like Storybrooke, Maine were well known for their gossip. It was small, less than a thousand people inhabiting the town and the surrounding area, and any goings-on there were passed along like a bad game of telephone. His need for everything to be exact to his specifications had morphed into unreasonable demands. His terse conversations had morphed into outright screaming matches. It would be almost amusing if he cared one bit what the townsfolk thought of him.

But he didn’t.

He _was_ a misanthrope and he was quite content with that. He had his small farm, his sheep, and more importantly, his dogs.

Gold had been raised on a farm in Scotland by his aunts, tough old women who had somehow made a go of something that was generally a man’s world. His mother had died in birth; his father had abandoned him to her sisters when he was just a toddler. He barely remembered the man and what he remembered was not particularly good. His aunts tried to speak kindly of him but he had heard the whispers, knew the things his father had said about him. And he knew he was unwanted, unloved. His aunts had raised him well, despite his father’s disappearance, and he had grown up…well, if not well, at least adequately.

He had learned to spin wool into yarn from his aunts. Hand spinning the way they did had gone out of style hundreds of years ago, but his aunts rejoiced in the strange pastime and so he had learned to love it. He would spin long into the night at times, letting it calm his mind. It wasn’t a bad life, not really at least, but he had grown up poor in harsh conditions, a small boy tormented by abusers and bullies. He had much to forget during those early days.

He still did.

And then the accident. The day had suddenly turned cold, the rain turning to freezing rain while he was out at the store. He had picked up a few necessities, stopped at a nearby farm and picked up a few extra bales of hay, and headed home. He never saw the patch of ice he hit, the wheels of his truck losing traction quickly and sending the vehicle spinning off the road into a tree.

David Nolan, his closest neighbor and fellow sheep farmer, had apparently found him. He had been making his own careful way home when he noticed the skid marks, the tracks going off the road. David was a much larger man than Gold, tall and muscular while he was small and slight, and he had pulled him from the wreckage before calling for an ambulance.

Gold had woken up some time later in a haze of pain and confusion. No one was at his bedside and he had only vague memories of what might have landed him in the hospital. He was trying to get up, planning on leaving, when the nurse rushed in and none too gently pushed him back down on the bed.

_You can’t do that Mr. Gold. I’ll just go get the doctor._

Oh, he had raged at her. And she had cringed away from his somewhat bleary and incoherent anger before leaving to find the doctor in question. The man who arrived, Whale if he remembered the name right, had explained in succinct, dry terms what had happened to him. His ankle had been caught under the dashboard, twisted, the bones shattered. They had put it back together as best they could. Surgery had apparently taken hours. It would take months to heal completely, painful physical therapy twice a week, and even then it would never be right.

No one had come to visit him while he was recuperating in the hospital, which was just as he expected, frankly. He had no friends, no family. His aunts had died many years before. And his son…well…he had spoken to him on the phone once the strongest of the medication they had him on had worn off. His ex-wife, who lived several states away and generally tossed the boy on a bus to go see his father when it was time for a visit, had refused to allow him to come. There was no one to take care of him while he was in this state and so he had to make do with the phone call. It wasn’t enough. It was _never_ enough. He had fought tooth and nail, with everything he had, to keep his boy with him. And all he got was a few weeks in the summer and phone calls in between.

They had called him an unfit parent. He lived in a remote area, spent most of his time with his dogs and sheep, had a temper and nothing, apparently, to offer the boy except his wealth. And wealthy he was. He had turned spinning into an art form, creating yarn that was sought the world round for its beauty and strength. He had woven a handful of rugs himself and they always sold for thousands. His financial advisers, and he had several of those, had wanted him to expand the operation, get a larger farm, more sheep, stop the hand spinning. He had ultimately brought more sheep into the flock, increasing the size of his flock to about thirty hardy sheep. But he had refused the rest. And doing so had made him a very rich man.

He was a recluse, enigmatic, unknown to even the people who lived in the nearby town. The town being a nice place for children to grow up hadn’t been good enough and so his son, Baeddan, had gone to live with his ex-wife and her new beau in the suburbs of some city in Ohio.

After his recuperation in the hospital, David Nolan had shown up to bring him home. He wasn’t exactly a friend, but he was certainly the closest Gold had. Nolan was a fellow sheep farmer, focusing on meat instead of wool as Gold did. He had a fairly large farm, a hundred head of sheep or so. It kept the man and his wife, a rather unassuming school teacher named Mary Margaret, busy. But it didn’t stop Nolan from stopping by the Gold farm on occasion.

So it was no surprise that he had been the one to find him after the accident and not exactly a surprise that he showed up to help him home. When they had arrived at his farm, he found his dogs excited to see him but well-fed. The sheep had been taken care of. Nolan had wanted to take no money from him, but he knew that they were expecting their first child and money was always an issue when it came to children.

Gold didn’t do it for the Nolans. They tended to be a nuisance. He did it for the child. David Nolan had been unable to refuse in the end.

Gold had been making do ever since Nolan departed, refusing all help from the younger man in handling his farm. The dogs could take care of bringing the sheep in to him as they always did. They might have to take on more of the work, with his still being on crutches and finding it difficult to get out to the field. It had thawed a bit after the last ice storm and the path out to the field was a mess of soggy grass and mud. The crutches consistently sunk into the ground and after one attempt he had given up. Sending the dogs out made the most sense. They were used to working closely with him, especially Taz.

Taz was his prize. Taz was his best friend. When he curled up on the couch in the evenings, glass of Scotch in hand and a good book on his lap, Taz was next to him. Bigger than most Border Collies, he was a classically marked red, white stripe down the center of his face, white at the tip of his tail, and hair…a lot of hair. He stood out amongst the other dogs and Nolan had often commented on the big, bold dog. Unfortunately for Nolan, Taz would have nothing to do with him. The dog kept his own counsel, preferring to stick close to Gold. He was the only dog allowed in the house in the evening. The rest stayed in a small heated building off the barn, bedding down together.

All together he had six dogs. Taz was the most experienced of the lot and the oldest. The youngest was just nine months old and not yet started on the sheep. But she hung out with the older dogs and she came from good solid stock. He had no doubt, based on the pup’s eye and focus that she’d make a fine sheepdog. Her training was put off for now, postponed until Gold could get back out there.

Everything was postponed. Everything was a mess.

That day he had headed out to the barn as he usually did. He had found a method that, while not easy, allowed him to feed the sheep with minimal trouble. Of course, he had refused all help during his recuperation time. David Nolan had offered. Time and time again, really. But his refusal had been quick and sharp.

It didn’t stop the man from stopping by on occasion, of course. David Nolan was nothing if not a complete nuisance. He stopped by with some excuse at least twice a week. And then he’d insist on _helping_ , even when Gold consistently told him to get lost, walked away, ignored him.

Today Gold grabbed the feed bucket that he had altered for his purposes. It had a strap that he had fashioned that allowed him to sling it over one shoulder while still making his way, slowly, to the feed troughs. It wasn’t the easiest thing to do, requiring balance that he didn’t entirely have in his injured state. He still had some bruising around his ribs that made it especially painful. But he gritted his teeth, filled it, and slung it across one shoulder.

He hadn’t taken more than two steps before his right crutch hit a rock and bounced away from him. He had felt at least somewhat steady under the heavy weight of the bucket and the crutches, hadn’t been expecting it. As soon as it was out of his grip, he put all his weight on his right foot, the injured ankle twisting further and pitching him forward.

He had no hope of regaining his balance in that moment. Landing hard on the ground, he rolled away from bucket as it came down on his already bruised side. He hissed in pain, the damaged bones held together by metal sending pain shooting up his leg as it crumpled underneath him.

He had no idea how long he laid there dazed on the ground, the sheep coming closer and eating the feed that had scattered as the bucket rolled away from him. Taz was nearby and slunk closer as the dust settled to curl up at his side. It could have been minutes. He suspected it was longer. He tried to get up, but the crutches had been thrown away as he fell, and his battered body protested when he tried to roll over to crawl to them.

He had finally managed that much, rolling over onto his hands and knees, breathing hard from the additional aches to his already bruised body, worried that he had done even more damage to his ankle.

“Mr. Gold?”

He snarled something incoherent. Nolan. Of _course_ Nolan would come and find him in this state. He had told the man something like twenty times that he was _just fine_. That he needed no help. That he could do this on his own.

“Gold!” The younger man came rushing to his side and he cringed slightly, looking up at him with a smirk to hide the pain.

“Why hello there, Mr. Nolan.” He tried for his usual sarcasm, but the words were edged with a pain he hoped the other man did not sense. “It seems you’ve arrived at a fortuitous time. I’ve found a new way to feed the sheep.” He waved a hand at the animals around him, still scrambling to get whatever they could out of the bucket and the feed strewn across the floor. It was chaos in the barn with him at the center of it all.

“Really?” David Nolan didn’t sound exactly impressed. Nor did he sound like he believed a word of it.

“Indeed. So if you just head on out…”

“No”

“No?”

Nolan shook his head and stepped closer. Taz got up and moved away, leaving Gold alone on the cold hard floor. The younger man held out a hand to him and Gold just gave it a sneering look. “Just _take_ it,” the other man said. “There’s no dignity in trying to get up on your own. You were in an _accident_. I’d be in the same place if it happened to me.”

Gold snorted. But acquiesced nonetheless. He wasn’t getting off the floor without some sort of help, after all. The younger man handed him one of the crutches and between that and the hand pulling him up he managed to get himself righted. It hurt like the devil and he tried not to show any of that pain on his face. Nolan was perceptive, however. The man was not the smartest one he’d ever met, but when it came to reading people, he seemed to have a knack many in the business world would be jealous of.

Gold hated that that knack meant he could read _him_ , especially when it came to any sort of weakness. But here they were. “Come on,” Nolan said. “Let’s get you back to the house. You need to put that ankle up.”

It was slow-going, making their way back, but together they got him into the house and into the recliner that he favored on nights he liked to relax. Nolan left briefly to finish feeding the sheep and locking up the barn, but returned all too soon.

“You need help around here.”

“No.”

“You…”

“My scotch.” Gold waved his hand at the sideboard off to his right.

“What?” He would have laughed at the furrow between the man’s brows if he wasn’t in so much damned pain.

“I need a glass of scotch if we’re going to have this conversation.”

The other man nodded and fetched a tumbler and the expensive Single-malt Scotch he kept hidden in the sideboard. He rarely drank, though he found he craved it more after the accident than before. It numbed the pain and moreover, it numbed the memories.

Taking a sip of the fiery liquid, he sighed. “I do not want any help around here.”

“What if I hadn’t come over?” Nolan challenged him with. “You could get someone in who would be able to do the heavy lifting, feed the sheep, muck out the barn.”

Gold was loath to admit that he was probably right. It had been a struggle since he’d come home. And it would be at least another couple weeks before he could put any real weight on the ankle, probably a few months before he could walk without the cast or a brace. “And who, exactly, is going to come and help _me_?” The words were said on a slight sneer, some of the bite gone. The pain and scotch were getting to his head.

He smirked as he realized Nolan had no answer to that. Well, none but the obvious. _No one_ would be willing to come to the farm and help out with the chores, not even if he paid extremely well. There wasn’t one person in town who would be willing to risk his wrath to come up to the place. He suspected he could offer the person some fifty dollars an hour and he _still_ wouldn’t get any takers.

“I’m sure someone…” Nolan’s voice trailed off and the words were met with another smirk from Gold.

“Tell you what. You go to town. You offer people one hundred dollars an hour to come up here and take care of some basic chores every day. The person would need to muck out the stalls, put down fresh bedding, feed and water the sheep. Perhaps two hours of work a day, seven days a week. When it’s worming and shearing time, I’d need their help a bit more. See if anyone takes you up on that.”

No one would. Not even the thought of making 1400 dollars a week would tempt one of the townsfolk up to his place. He knew this. David Nolan knew this. He saw the man start to speak but held up his hand.

“Ah yes, there will no doubt be multiple people clamoring to come up here for such a thing. Working for the monster on the hill? I can imagine the townsfolk will be most anxious to do that. I’m not sure how I’ll ever interview so many people.” He waved a hand around him as he spoke.

Nolan stood up. “I’ll find someone, Gold. You can count on me.” He took a step toward the door.

“You’ll understand if I don’t see you out.” Gold’s voice was dry as he spoke.

“Of course.”

And then Gold was left blessedly, and painfully, alone. It would be another rough night spent in his recliner.


	2. Chapter 2

Belle French collapsed onto one of the stools at Granny’s. It was only her third day working at the pharmacy with Mr. Clark, but she was simply exhausted. She was used to study, long hours spent poring over books as she researched, hours alone in a little room trying to piece together the various threads of history. Stocking things in a pharmacy, asking "can I help you?" several times over the course of the day, and standing around waiting for something to happen was not _really_ her stock in trade.

"Can I get you something?" She sat up a little higher and smiled at the young woman who approached her.

"Something that doesn't require much effort to eat," Belle said with a bit of a sigh.

"Long day?" The other woman leaned over the counter, her lanky body bent at a slightly odd angle to do it. She was tall, much taller than Belle's short stature, with long dark hair and a brilliant smile.

"You could say that," Belle responded with. "I'm working at the pharmacy."

"With Mr. Clark?" Belle nodded. "How do you stand listening to him sneeze all day?"

Belle found herself chuckling at that. Mr. Clark seemed to have allergies that _nothing_ he did kept under control. She watched him take allergy medications like it was candy and still he sneezed on and off all through the day. "It is kind of gross, isn't it?"

"It is. I hope he doesn't sneeze all over the merchandise." The other woman gave a slight shudder. "I'm Ruby, by the way," she said and stuck her hand out.

Belle shook her hand lightly. "Belle. Belle French."

Ruby cocked her head to the side. "You're the new girl."

"I am," Belle confirmed. She wouldn't exactly say she was running away but, well, she was. When her father fell ill she had to leave her schooling to take care of him. They had moved to near Storybrooke, Maine to access some specialized treatment at a nearby hospital. He would be staying there for quite some time and so it was up to Belle to settle into the area, find a job, and help pay for his treatment. Working in a pharmacy wasn't _quite_ what she had in mind but it seemed the area was small and the jobs scarce. She was lucky Mr. Clark even offered her that much. Everyone else in town had been wary at best and hostile at worst.

"Not so easy being new in this town," Ruby said and Belle was thankful to have someone who at least commiserated.

"Were you new at one point too?"

Ruby shook her head. "Lived here my whole life. We just don't get many new folks here. This really isn't a place people come to."

"I can imagine that." Small town life wasn't what Belle was used to. She had grown up in a large city in Australia, had landed in a large city in the United States when she was twelve, had spent all of her time in cities that never seemed to quiet down. This was her first experience with small town life and so far she was somewhat less than impressed. "But I have a part time job at least. It's better than expected."

"Ruby!" came the call from the other room as an older woman stuck her head out. "You'd best get back to work." Belle could hear the growl behind the voice, but could also hear the affection.

"Granny," Ruby said and the affection behind _her_ voice was evident as well.

"Yours?"

Ruby nodded. "She's run this place as long as I can remember."

"Ruby!"

"Coming Granny!" she said with good-natured exasperation. "So the soup of the day?"

"Perfect. And maybe some hot cocoa?" Ruby rushed off and Belle slumped against the counter. She hadn't exactly made a friend, but at least she had found a friendly face. She was staying at Granny's Bed and Breakfast for now and Granny, Ruby's grandmother apparently, had agreed to give her the place to stay for only a small amount. She was a kind woman who seemed to know when someone was in a bit of financial trouble. As long as Belle washed her own bedding, she could stay there for only fifty dollars a week. It ate into her paycheck, certainly, but she could never have found something so cheap anywhere else.

Ruby brought her the soup, which turned out to be a rather generous portion of a delicious vegetable soup, along with some crackers and the hot cocoa she had requested.

"I put a bit of cinnamon on the top," she said as she set them down. "It seems almost everyone in this town likes their cocoa with cinnamon."

"That's an odd trait," Belle murmured and then Ruby was off about her business.

She did have to admit that the cinnamon gave the hot cocoa a bit of an extra flavor that was most welcome.

Soon people started to trickle into the diner and she watched from her perch on the stool. Mr. Clark came in, along with a large group of men who seemed to be best friends. All around the same height, not much taller than Belle, really, they were a good-natured, if loud, bunch. She couldn't help but smile and waved briefly at Mr. Clark before he settled into a booth with his friends.

A group of young girls came in, typical teenagers, loud and excitable and squealing about something or other. Following them were a sedate elderly couple who came and sat down at a booth near the front. It seemed Granny's brought the town together, from the young to the old, and Belle liked that. In the cities she lived in, people kept to themselves. There were places that the elderly went, places the younger folks went and rarely did they mix.

But not here. The town was small enough that Granny's appeared to be _the_ place to go. And even Belle, outsider though she was, felt somewhat welcomed there.

A man close to Belle's age and his heavily pregnant wife entered and she could see them looking around in dismay. The place was simply packed and getting more so all the time. There were a couple seats next to her however and so she waved to the couple, who gave her an odd look for a moment before noticing she was pointing to the seats next to her.

The woman managed to push through first, people giving her a wide berth and good-natured ribbing.

"Thank you," the woman said as her husband helped her into the seat at Belle's right. "Eight months pregnant doesn't make any of this very easy."

"I'd imagine not," Belle responded with.

"I have to say I can't wait to pop this one out." The look she gave Belle was somewhat sheepish. "Sorry, you don't need to hear pregnancy complaints. You were nice enough to offer me a seat and I should simply say thank you and order my food. That's what David would say anyway."

"Indeed," her husband said as he sat down. "Let's leave the poor girl to her food before you start talking about Lamaze class or something."

Belle simply smiled and turned back to her soup. She was nearly done but it wasn't late, just a little after seven, and she wasn't quite ready to go up to her room yet. It was peaceful, true, and she had several books waiting for her, but there was something about being in company that she was enjoying for the moment.

"So no one?" she heard the pregnant woman next to her say and glanced at the couple from out of the corner of her eye.

The man with her, David she assumed, sighed. "No one. I've been all over town and had absolutely no one interested."

"He can't keep on the way he is."

"No. He can't. I can only do so much, but he needs help up there. But you know this town." There was exasperation in the man's voice and something else. Something Belle couldn't quite identify.

"They're all afraid of him," the woman confirmed. But that wasn't what Belle heard in his voice. It was almost…respect? A kind of companionship? She didn't know who this _him_ was they were talking about, but she thought that David actually liked the man.

"Exactly." He sighed. "But he's hurt. I found him collapsed in his barn today. He'd lost his crutches and ended up face down in the dirt."

"I bet he loved that." The woman's voice was dry with sarcasm.

"It went about as well as you could imagine."

"David, you can't keep helping him. He doesn't _want_ your help." The woman put a hand on his arm.

"I know," David said, running his hand through his hair. "But he needs it. And unless I can find someone to help him, I'm going to have to keep lending a hand."

"Which is not going to be so easy when the baby comes," the woman pointed out.

"Pardon me," Belle said, turning the couple. "I'm sorry. I couldn't help but overhear you. Are you searching for someone to help this person?"

David turned to her and gave her an assessing look. "Actually, yes."

"Oh David, you can't send her to him," the woman said and put her hand her husband's arm. "He'll eat her alive."

"Who is _he_?" Belle asked.

"Mr. Gold," the woman responded and looked away from her. _Mr. Gold_. The name didn't sound too intimidating, really. She imagined some doddering old fool, dragging around his crutches and shouting at anyone nearby, the crotchety old guy telling the kids to get off his lawn.

"Mr. Gold? He doesn't sound too bad."

"Well, he is," the woman interrupted with.

David reached out a hand, touched her shoulder, the small steadying touch that Belle had always admired between long-established couples. Admired and envied, really. Her longest relationship had been approximately six weeks with a fellow student. And they had never had any sort of real connection. He had been popular, admired by all the girls. And Gaston, star quarterback, always got what he wanted. He had set his eyes on Belle and for a time she felt flattered. Before she realized he was just an oaf who was heavy on the muscle and light on the brains.

"He's not _that_ bad," David said. "He's just a little ornery, is all."

"A little?" his wife shot back.

"Mary Margaret, you know he's hurting after…"

"He was always that way, David."

Belle found herself rolling her eyes. "So what is this help he needs?"

David leaned a little closer. "Gold owns a sheep farm up on the hill. You might have seen it on your way into town?" When Belle shook her head he continued. "Well, anyway. He was in an accident a couple months ago and just returned home. He needs help with basic chores. Mucking out the barn, feeding the sheep and dogs."

"Dogs?" Belle perked up a bit at that. "I've always loved dogs."

“Don’t,” Mary Margaret said, a warning to be sure.

“Yes, dogs,” David said and shot his wife a look. “He pays well,” he added.

“How well?” If it was anything more than minimum wage, she’d take it. She didn’t even care what she had to do or who she had to work with. Her father's medical bills were somewhat overwhelming. Keeping him in the hospital, the constant copays, the tests and procedures. Her minimum wage job would only cover a little bit of that with nothing left over for herself. She _needed_ something more.

“A hundred bucks an hour.”

“What?” Belle blinked. She had to have heard that one wrong.

“I told you he was bad news,” Mary Margaret muttered. “You don’t pay someone that much unless that’s the only way you can entice someone to work for you.”

“I actually think it was a bit of a dare.” David laughed a little with it and Belle just shook her head. Mary Margaret was trying to paint him as the town ogre. David sounded like he actually like the man to some degree. Belle had no idea what to think. “Look, I can get you an interview with him if you want one.”

“Oh, I would. Please. The only thing I’ve found is a part time job at the pharmacy and that's just minimum wage work. I’ll do anything he needs.”

“He’ll love that,” she heard Mary Margaret mutter and even Belle was starting to feel exasperated at the other woman. She didn’t know this _Mr. Gold_ , but it didn’t even matter. One hundred dollars an hour. For that amount of money there wasn’t much she _wouldn’t_ do.

* * *

“He’s going to eat her alive,” Mary Margaret said as they made their way home from the diner that evening. “You know he is.”

“She’s the only person who didn’t balk at working for him.” David was trying to be helpful. Gold could be a handful, that much he knew perhaps better than anyone else. But there was also a core of _something_ deep inside the man that told him he wasn’t quite as bad as he wanted people to believe.

“But you can’t…”

“I’m going to. If she meets him and then refuses to work for him, then that’s her choice.” But he somehow knew she wouldn't refuse, something he was thankful for. He suspected the young woman he met might just be good for the old dragon.

“Fine, but when she comes crying to you because he’s done something horrible to her, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

David just smiled at his wife and gave her a kiss as he helped her into the house. “I’m going up to see Gold. Tell him the good news.”

“I almost want to go with you,” she said and shook her head. “But not even watching him blow a gasket is worth that.”

David left then, still grinning. Mary Margaret was wonderful. He loved her with everything he was, though their relationship hadn’t always been quite so stable. They had met when he was married to someone else, marriage that was heading down the tubes before they even crossed paths. But he had instantly been drawn to her and that had created so much friction within the town that they had contemplated leaving for a time.

But then Mary Margaret got hired on to teach.

And they got married.

And little Emma had come along.

And somehow the town forgot.

But David still remembered that during those harrowing months where it was just him and Mary Margaret against the world, Gold had had his back. Not in the usual way. But he had picked up things in town for them, made sure that baby Emma got formula when Mary Margaret was ill. He had acted like it was nothing, but David had had a bit of a soft spot for him ever since.

He knocked at the door and waited. There wasn’t a sound from inside, though he could see lights on. He worried. He could admit that much. The last time he had come up here he had found the man sprawled out in the middle of his barn with sheep loose all around him. He was just stepping off the steps to the front door when it finally swung open.

“Do pardon me for the long delay, Mr. Nolan,” came Gold’s voice from behind him. “It seems I’m not moving quite so fast these days.” David turned back to him, noticed the sardonic twist to his lips and tried not to roll his eyes.

“Can I come in?” he said and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I doubt I could keep you out,” Gold said and stepped back slightly. “You know the way to the living room.”

David stepped around him and made his way to the room, watching Gold’s prize sheepdog rise at his intrusion and find a spot across the room, about as far away from him as he could get. Truth be told, the dog had never liked him and Nolan never could figure out why. Maybe he had a bit of Gold’s orneriness. Mary Margaret had been up to the house as well and had yet to have the dog approach her.

Gold didn’t bother explaining. He just said _That’s Taz_ and left it at that. Sometimes it was easier not to question the man.

“So what can I do for you, Mr. Nolan?” Gold said as he made his way slowly into the room and slumped down in his favorite chair. There was already a tumbler of whiskey at his side and several bottles of pills, some open, sitting next to it.

"Are you mixing pain medication and alcohol?" He didn't mean the words to sound quite so incredulous, yet they slipped out anyway.

"You are _not_ my father.” Gold sounded highly annoyed and David tried not to smile. He was like an angry cat sometimes, all hissing and spitting. "What are you doing here?"

"I found someone interested in working for you." He watched the other man's eyebrows rise at his news.

"Really then? And how exactly did you convince this person to show themselves up there? Did you lie to him or is he somehow completely unaware of who exactly I am."

"New to town," David muttered. He didn't correct Gold's mistaken assumption that the person he was hiring was male. He was sure that Gold expected some large oaf he had stumbled on in town. Even David hadn't realized quite how small Belle French was until the woman had jumped off the stool and raced upstairs in excitement. She couldn't have been more than a couple inches over five feet, smaller even than the Gold, who David towered over. She didn't exactly _look_ like the type to do a lot of heavy manual labor but, well, she was all he had at the moment.

"Ah, so you somehow managed to sucker some poor young man into coming up to meet me." Gold pulled a pill out of one of the bottles at his side and chased it down with whiskey. The look he gave David just _dared_ him to respond to it. Wisely, he chose not to rise to the occasion.

"Actually, no. It was more like a volunteer thing." Desperation was more like it. He didn't know her story, but the desperation was obvious. And when he brought up the hundred dollars an hour. Well, he could _see_ her making the calculations in her head. He had no idea why she had landed in Storybrooke, but he was thankful he had that much to offer Gold.

"Desperate, is he?" Gold set down his tumbler and steepled his fingers together.

"You look like you should be offering up an evil cackle," David pointed out.

"Perhaps I should be," Gold said with a slight smile. "So this person…"

"Interview tomorrow?"

David smirked. Despite Gold's insistence that he didn't want anyone up here to help, he was a practical man. He'd accept the help. Or at least, he would if he could convince him that he needed Belle French. How he was going to do that was quite beyond him at the moment. "A little after nine?" He had told Belle he'd pick her up at nine. She had her own car, a beat-up old hatchback that had definitely seen better days, but she didn’t know the way to Gold's and he was certain he'd need to be there to mediate once Gold got a good look at the petite woman.

"Excellent. I look forward to meeting this young man." David was sure he heard a bit of sarcasm in his voice. "I assume you can find your own way out."

"Of course." Dismissed, David turned and left Gold to his pain medication and whiskey. Tomorrow was going to be one hell of a day.


	3. Chapter 3

David arrived at just a few minutes after nine to pick her up. When she crawled up into his truck, he a look she couldn’t quite decipher. “What?”

“Your outfit…”

She glanced down at what she was wearing. She certainly wasn’t dressed for mucking out stalls or feeding any of the animals, but she was dressed comfortably in a pair of conservative slacks and a heavy knit sweater to ward off the cold. It was almost mid-March, but Maine still had a chill in the air and Belle wasn’t quite used to this kind of cold. “I was always told to dress a little bit better than what you’re expected to wear at the job.”

He eyed the heels she had chosen. She _liked_ her heels and even if it wasn’t possible to wear them on the job, she would any chance she got. Belle was tiny. _Very_ tiny if you listened to everyone else. Just barely over five feet tall, the heels at least put her on somewhat the same level as most of the women she met.

“He’s going to hate me, isn’t he?” Belle finally managed to ask. David glanced over at her as he started up the truck and drove off.

“Not at all.” She could hear the laugh behind the words. “He’s going to _love_ you.”

“I brought a change of clothes,” she pointed out.

“Well, always best to come prepared.”

“Why do I feel that you’re humoring me?”

David shook his head. “Never. He’ll be impressed that you’re prepared.”

“Will he?” Belle tried so very hard to not sound concerned, but she was. Very concerned. This job could mean the difference between proper care for her father and nothing. It meant a chance to get ahead, maybe even save a little bit for herself, get her own apartment, _something_. She had butterflies in her stomach and the lack of nice things said about her potential employer made it all that much more difficult for her.

“He’s going to love you,” David repeated.

Why did Belle get the feeling that there was absolutely _no_ sincerity behind those words?

* * *

“No.” The door had opened, the man behind it had done little more than look Belle up and down once before trying to shut them out.

David stuck his foot out, catching the door before it could close on them. “You haven’t even spoken to her,” he pointed out. The man behind the door glared at him, brown eyes narrowed on the much taller man. There wasn’t much to Mr. Gold, really. He was a small man, not much taller than Belle in her heels, thin. His shaggy greying hair fell across his furrowed brow as he glared at the pair of them. There were deep grooves over the bridge of his slightly-hooked nose that made it obvious he wore this expression often. He seemed a dour man, unhappy and angry.

“Get out.” He leaned against the door and attempted to use his crutch to dislodge David’s foot.

“Oh please, sir,” Belle said. “David was nice enough to bring me all this way.”

“The least you could do is meet with her,” David pointed out.

“I have. And I say no. Now…”

“Wait,” Belle said.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Gold suddenly said and she was amazed to see the furrows melt off his face, leaving behind softer lines. He leaned a little toward her, took one step. David backed up slightly to allow him the space. “You seem to be languishing under the impression that I care.”

His face went hard again as he smacked David’s foot with one crutch and slammed the door in their faces.

For a moment the pair stood there, stunned. “Well, that went well,” David said.

“Oh yes,” Belle responded with and couldn’t help the slight laugh that bubbled up from her. “Very well indeed.”

David reached out a hand and touched her shoulder briefly. “Actually, it went better than I thought it would.” He sighed as he stepped off the porch and waved her along with him.

“Well, that says a lot then, doesn’t?” She’d never had such a short interview. Not that she had had many in her life, but even Mr. Clark had spent more time with her before deciding she could work at the pharmacy. The jobs she had been turned down for had been based on long interviews that eventually led to a better candidate getting the job.

There _were_ no other candidates from what David and his wife had said.

“Wait.” Belle stopped in her tracks and looked back at the house. He was stuck, she realized. No one wanted to come up here. But _she_ wanted to come up here. Ornery or not, she could deal with him. Rushing back, she pounded on the door.

It took a few moments, but the door finally swung open. Gold’s eyebrows rose. "I thought I…"

"I'm the only one you've got." The words rushed out of Belle's mouth. She was. She knew it. She had at least this much leverage over him. "So if you don't at least give me a chance, what are you going to do?"

"I'll do it all on my own." The words were nearly snarled at her, accompanied by a baring of teeth.

"On crutches?" Belle crossed her arms over her chest.

"I am _fine_. Which I have told Mr. Nolan any number of times." He looked past Belle at the other man. David still stood off the porch behind her, watching. She glanced at him briefly. By the slightly open-mouthed look, she was fairly certain he hadn't expected her to push Gold this way. Good. Let them all realize that she couldn't be pushed around. She might be small. But she was also desperate and desperation led to her doing rash things on occasion.

"Are you?" she shot back. "I understand you had some difficulties the other day and that's why David was searching the town for someone to help you."

"No," he muttered. But it was easy to tell that she had gotten the better of him in that moment. "Miss…" He waved a hand at her.

"French. Belle French." She stuck out her hand and he simply looked at it, but made no attempt to reach out and take the proffered hand.

"Why don't you come in then?" He turned away from her, gripped the crutches in both hands and made his hobbling way into his inner sanctum. Belle glanced briefly at David and watched as he shrugged. Taking a deep breath, she turned to follow Gold, but almost ran into the man. He turned, raised one hand toward David. "Why don't you make yourself useful, dearie, and look in on the sheep?" Then he walked off once more.

She was more certain than ever that he was damned near desperate for help, though something told her he would never admit to that much. It made it all so very fascinating. She was desperate but trying to act somewhat nonchalant about it all. He was desperate and trying hard not to appear that way. Maybe this would work if they simply kept to their separate acts.

He waved her into what appears to be his living room. The place wasn't comfortable, at least by her standards. An older couch that was beautiful, but with a rather hard surface. Antique clocks and knick-knacks covered many of the surfaces. It was crowded yet everything seemed to have its clear place. But Belle had never been the most graceful person. She had once taken a dance class and somehow managed to knock over three of the other girls in the class before the teacher had excused her. She had broken her ankle in high school just by slipping off the edge of a sidewalk.

His place frankly made her worry about even moving and so she sat down, perched on the end of the couch and waited for him to situate himself.

"So Miss French…"

"Belle," she pointed out. "I hate being called Miss anything." She tried to smile at him, but the look on his face was so serious that her smile simply dissipated before it could properly form.

"Miss French," he repeated and she had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. "Exactly why _do_ you want this job?"

"I thought that would be rather obvious."

"Considering this is a job that calls for a fair amount of strength?" He waved a hand at her. The intent of his words was obvious.

"I'm stronger than I look." He gave her a rather assessing look, one eyebrow up. "You're not that much bigger than I am," she pointed out. For a moment he stared at her and she wasn't sure if he was going to snarl at her or simply toss her out on her ear.

And then he laughed.

It transformed his face entirely. The deep furrows that formed between his brows disappeared and she noticed that he had laugh lines for the first time. There was something there, some layer she was just seeing peeled back a little. Drawing himself to his feet, he hobbled over to her, the crutches bearing most of his weight, and held out his hand.

She stared up at him, eyes wide, uncertain. "Come Miss French. I don't bite." She waited one more moment and then put her hand in his, allowed him to draw her to feet. He was close to her when she rose, perhaps a little too close, his eyes intense as he watched her. "Well, not that often at least."

A shiver went through her as he dropped her hand and hobbled away. "Let me show you the barn."

She caught up to him, put her hand on his arm. "So I'm hired?"

He turned back to look at her and she quickly withdrew her hand. "I didn’t say that." As she followed him out of the house and across the dirt walkway to the barn, she had to stop herself from rolling her eyes _again_. She had a feeling that would be fairly common around him.

She was hired. She knew it. He knew it. But she would play his game. Any game really. If it netted her a hundred dollars an hour she'd go to work for the devil himself. She'd do the chores in the nude if she had to. Ok, maybe not _that_. But she would work hard, as hard as she needed to in order to ensure he didn't fire her on the first day.

Gold led her out and around the side of the house. He carefully picked his way through the grass and dirt, finding some sort of purchase with his crutches before moving forward. It was slow going, a sort of odd processional, but she kept to his pace, hanging back, watching the man.

He led them first to the barn that she had noticed when they’d driven up. She could hear the occasional bleating coming from inside and heard the murmur of a lone voice. Gold turned back to her before they stepped inside and there was an amused glint in his eyes. “Mr. Nolan apparently likes talking to the animals.”

She caught up to him then and found herself smiling back. “And you don’t?”

He shrugged. “Well, not the sheep at least.”

“You have other animals?” She found herself suddenly interested in what exactly he _did_ have on this little farm of his.

His eyebrows rose. “Have you never been on a working sheep farm before, Miss French?”

“I probably shouldn’t admit this, but I’ve never actually been on a _farm_ before.” She sucked her lower lip into her mouth and bit down on it. She couldn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Really then?” She looked up to find him studying her, as if she were some sort of interesting bug he had under the microscope. “City girl?”

“Born and bred. Sydney, originally…”

“That explains the accent,” he muttered.

“I’ve lost a lot of it over the years.” She shrugged at the words. “My Papa and I came over when I was twelve.”

“And that would be how many years ago, Miss French?”

She gave a small laugh at that. “A lady never tells her age, Mr. Gold.” She gave him a coy look from lowered lashes. “Don’t you know that by now?”

He leaned just a little bit closer. “Indeed I do. But if you’re going to work for me you _are_ going to have to fill out paperwork that tells me how old you are.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “And I suppose you’re just the type to look aren’t you?”

He gave a short bark of laughter and she was pleased to see those laugh lines crease for a moment. There was a sense of humor there. Somewhere. “Indeed I am.”

“Over eighteen years ago,” Belle muttered. “Does that make you happy?”

“Close enough,” he responded with. “Come then. Let me introduce you to my friends.”

She raised an eyebrow and slipped inside the barn with him. It was dim inside, lit by some high windows and a few electric lights along one of the walls. She could hear David moving about inside one of the nearby stalls, he sound of the voice quiet as he spoke to the sheep. It seemed almost sad. _Were_ these Gold’s only friends? He seemed lonely, she realized, up here on the hill living in a great big farmhouse by himself. David didn’t seem to be a friend so much as a colleague, a fellow shepherd, and someone who at least cared _enough_ to help Gold out.

Gold stopped briefly and allowed her to peer inside the stall David was working in. She watched him for a moment as he pushed the hay to the side of the stall and scooped up any of the excrement he found there.

“Not too appetizing, is it?”

She turned to look at Gold and scrunched her nose up. “I can handle it.”

He nodded and waved her away from the stall. “I have about thirty sheep, sometimes a bit more, sometimes less. Many more during lambing season, but we won’t be doing that this year." She saw him grimace slightly and she had a good feeling _why_ he wouldn’t be doing such a thing. She didn’t dare ask.

He pointed at the three stalls she saw along the side. "They're housed in two large stalls, three when the lambs are born to give them more space." He turned to her then. "My sheep spend most of the day out on the hillside. That’s where they are now. They bed down in here at night where they're safe from predators and stupid teenagers."

"Teenagers?"

"We've had some…trouble…on occasion. They set Mr. Nolan's sheep free one night. He lost two and there was a rather serious car accident…"

"Yours?" She almost clamped her hand over her mouth after the question came out. She didn't mean to ask. David had told her about his accident, or at least that he had _been_ in one. But he hadn’t given her any details about what happened.

His eyebrows lowered. "No," was all he said to her question. For a moment he was silent, brooding, and then the look cleared and he waved her on ahead again. "Let me show you something else."

Belle nodded and followed him to the back of the barn. She didn't want to ask anything else about the accident that destroyed his ankle. She could see how it was twisted and even though he was healing, there was still a lot of progress yet to be made. David hadn't indicated how long this recovery was but the accident had apparently been over a month ago and he had only just come home. He'd been on crutches since he had gotten back on his feet, had a lot of painful physical therapy ahead of him, and would eventually need a cane to keep his balance. Quite possibly forever, from what she understood and she tried very hard not to feel bad for him. He wasn't a young man, but he wasn't an old one either, and having your mobility stolen in such a way had to be difficult.

Especially for someone as proud as Mr. Gold appeared to be. He was not a soft man, all hard edges and anger, and she suspected he had long prided himself on being self-sufficient. This couldn't be easy for him.

When they reached the back he unlocked a door she hadn't noticed at first. "You might want to stand back a little bit." The words were said with a slight twist of his lips.

"Why?" she started to ask, but didn't have to question it a moment more. Several dogs came bounding out of the room. One went straight to Gold. Larger than the rest, red and white, he was focused solely on Gold and immediately rushed to his side, turning to face the same direction and laying down.

The other dogs scattered, some going to explore, some rushing to Belle. She squatted down on the barn floor as two approached and allowed them to sniff her before reaching out to scratch necks. One, a young dog that looked to be barely out of puppyhood, took off zooming around the barn before racing to Belle and almost knocking her clear off her feet. "Well, he's an exuberant one, isn't he?"

She looked up to find Gold watching her, his look assessing. "She, actually. Bandit."

"Bandit?" She scratched the dog’s ear, let her chew on her fingers for a moment.

"The mask," he pointed out and Belle looked closely, realizing that the markings on her face formed a sort of dark mask around the eyes.

"She looks like a Bandit," she agreed.

"Border collies."

"All of them?"

He smiled. "Indeed. The breed was developed in the Scottish border region specifically to herd sheep. They're intelligent and wise and some of the most amazing creatures on earth." His voice was quiet, almost a whisper. The lines of his face had softened and for a moment he looked like an entirely different person than the man who had slammed the door shut in her face not that long ago.

"These guys herd your sheep?" She watched the dogs as they sniffed and explored the barn and finally settled down. Most watched Gold carefully, but one or two were still curious about the woman sitting on the floor of the barn.

"Yes. Working dogs, all of them." He indicated the dog that was still crouched at his side, his intensity obvious in the taut lines of his body. "This is Taz." At his name, the big red and white dog looked up at Gold. "That'll do," he whispered and the dog went slack, the intensity disappearing in an instant.

As soon as he seemed to be released from some mysterious bond to Gold that he had, the dog stepped away, walked the handful of feet over to Belle. He watched her and she was sure that there was something intelligent, something almost human in that amber gaze. And then the dog heaved what she could only describe as a sigh and lay down at her side, head in her lap.

Gold let out a strange choking sound and Belle had to stop herself from springing to her feet. "Is something wrong?"

"I…" He stopped there and his eyes were wide. Belle gave Taz a quick scratch behind the ear before standing.

"Mr. Gold?"

"I…um…sorry…what was that?" He seemed dazed and she wasn't quite sure what to make of that

"I asked if something were wrong…"

He shook his head and met her eyes for a moment. "It seems I have severely underestimated you, Miss French."

"Did you now?" She had no idea what was even going on. Why this sudden change of heart, this strangeness.

"I did. The job is yours, if you'll have it."

She had to stop herself from squealing and instead held out a hand. "Of course I'll take it." He took her hand in his, just a light clasping together of their hands, but she felt the electric jolt down to her toes.

"Come then," he said. "There is much to discuss." He whistled to the dogs and they immediately returned to their room in the barn. Only Taz stayed at his side and as he turned to lead her back to the house, the big dog followed behind.

Belle honestly had _no_ idea what had just happened, but it didn't really matter in the long run. The job, and all that it entailed, was hers.


	4. Chapter 4

There were times she was sure she would come to regret her the rash decision she sometimes made. That first day in the barn, not more than a half hour into her day, was one of them. Gold had brought her in that morning and produced a contract. She was to be at the barn no later than 7:00am. It was an ungodly hour but that was apparently when he turned the sheep out for the day and she was expected to begin her duties. Once she released the sheep to pasture, she had to muck out their stalls.

This was what she was in the middle of doing that morning. It was barely light out and it was a struggle to see in the dim stall. "Who the hell has the crazy idea that 7:00am is a proper time to start work?" She wasn't the sort to talk to herself usually, but no one was around and she needed to vent at least a _little_. The sheep were gone and the dogs were probably still in their climate controlled kennel. Hell, Gold had probably gone back to bed, though the man _had_ been impeccably dressed, even at such an early hour.

Gold's dogs really lived it up and somehow she was surprised at that. She didn't know why. It really _shouldn't_ have surprised her. Gold was not a people person, after all. Nothing had really come of her attempts at conversation with the man. She was simply met with a stony stare and a continuation of the instructions he had given her.

And the instructions had been a bit more exacting than she thought they would be, though she couldn't say that was a surprise. Everything about Gold pointed to a sort of meticulousness that Belle tended to find annoying. His outfit was old-fashioned, tweed pants, cable knit sweater, and everything pressed perfectly. She could see the crease in pants that she suspected would be slightly wrinkled on a more relaxed man. He didn’t seem like the type of person to be relaxed. She was surprised he didn’t muck out the kennels in a three-piece suit.

The thought made her giggle.

At least focusing on her employer kept her moving through the morning. Though she wouldn’t pretend any of what she was doing was easy.

First she had to use a special shovel to sift through all of the hay at the bottom of the stall, pushing the fresh stuff to the side and collecting anything that had been clumped up with excrement. That was discarded in a wheelbarrow that she had pushed close to the stall. Anything wet was discarded in the waste baskets nearby.

It wasn’t the hardest work, though it stunk terribly. She managed to fill the wheelbarrow pretty well and set down the shovel, wiping a towel across her brow. Despite the chill in the barn, she had worked up a pretty good sweat.

Turning to the wheelbarrow, she picked up the back end of it, surprised at the weight of it all. She hadn’t really considered that when dumping everything into it. She pushed it forward a foot, felt it tip precariously and managed to catch it. Her arm was wrenched backward but still she was able to keep it upright. Taking a deep breath, she pushed at it again. This time it slipped out of her hands and within seconds she had a whole new pile of manure on the ground at her feet.

“Bugger.”

“Having trouble, are we Miss French?”

She whipped around at the sound of his voice and glared at him. Or at least, she tried to glare. If she weren’t dressed in ridiculously baggy pants, rubber boots and probably half covered in _shit_ , she might have looked at least a little bit threatening. But the reality was she probably looked utterly ridiculous. “Everything is going _just fine_ ,” she said through clenched teeth.

He may have hired her, but she was sure he was still trying to get rid of her, prove to her that she didn't have what it took to work on his farm.

He leaned against the door-frame, the light leaving him in shadow, but she could clearly hear him offer up a chuckle. “Don’t pile it so high next time.”

And then he was gone. She turned to stare down at the mess she had made, picked up the shovel once more. “Well, bugger,” she repeated before setting to the task once more.

* * *

The girl was going to be a nuisance. A very pretty nuisance, even when covered in sheep dung and glaring at him like Satan himself had come to see her. But still, a nuisance nonetheless. There were times when he was thankful that David Nolan came up to lend a hand. And then there were the times when the damned man interfered with his life in less than pleasurable ways.

He had had no intention of hiring the girl. One look at her ridiculous high heels told him exactly what he needed to know about her. She was impractical, perhaps a bit flighty, the kind of person who would throw in the towel when she chipped a nail or twisted her ankle. She probably watched daytime soaps and gossiped at the hair salon.

But then there was Taz. He glanced down at the dog, the _traitor_ , that currently lay at his feet. Taz liked no one. He was the perfect Border Collie as far as Gold was concerned. Devoted to his master, aloof with strangers. He gave them a wide berth, preferring to stick to Gold or leave the room entirely when people came calling.

But not this Belle French. The dog had gone over to her, no hesitation, and put his head right in the infernal woman’s _lap_. Like he was her lost dog and he had finally come home.

_Pathetic_.

And perhaps what was even _more_ pathetic was the way his heart skipped a beat when the dog had done it. It seemed he’d been without any sort of companionship besides his dogs for far too long. The woman looked up at him with big blue eyes, his dog’s head in her lap, and damned if he didn’t hire her on the spot. All because of his damned dog and those big blue eyes of hers.

He didn't know why she needed the job so desperately. He didn't even want to ask, afraid she might start prattling away at him about this and that. She probably wanted a fancy car or a vacation to some spot where she could traipse about in a string bikini and five-inch heels. He had been anything but friendly and any normal person would have thrown their hands up in the air and walked away long ago. He expected her to turn tail and run as soon as she laid eyes on him. But no, not this Belle French. She had hounded him until he had simply thrown in the towel and agreed to take her on.

He had never had help before. He had never _needed_ help before. The dogs did all the hard work of bringing the sheep back in and he had always been able to do everything else on his own. It was strange to have someone in the house, see her out in the barn, It was disconcerting realizing that he really did need the work. He wasn't sure his body could take another collapse like he had had the other day. He was lucky his ankle hadn't taken the brunt of it. But it was only a matter of time if he did everything on his own.

So now he had a _person_ up there and damned if he didn't even know how to deal with her exactly. Which was why he had gone to watch her, poked fun at her. A part of him even _now_ wanted to go back and watch her some more.

* * *

The infuriating man had come back _twice more_ to stare at her, make comments on her abilities. He just wanted to make sure she was doing her job properly. That's what he claimed. But she could tell by the smirks, by the offhand comments, that he was enjoying every moment of her struggles.

And struggle she did.

She had finally gotten all of the manure out to the pile. It took three trips instead of the one she imagined but at least the wheelbarrow didn't tip over again. It was slow-going but she had learned something that day and in a way that made her proud.

Carting the water from the spigot to the watering trough had gone just about as well. She overfilled the bucket and found it virtually impossible to carry. But Belle wasn't one for backing down from a challenge and so pushed her way through, spilling more water on herself than she did in the trough. Her return trips had been with less water each time and by the time she was done with it, her arms were shaking with exhaustion.

When she was hauling the last bucket, quite successfully she might add, Gold returned. "You're soaked."

The words irritated her and she ended up rolling her eyes before continuing with the chore.

"Why are you soaked?"

She dumped the water into the trough and only a little splashed back that time. With a triumphant grin, she set down the bucket.

"Miss French…"

She finally glanced back at him. "Why do you think?" She snapped at him and watched as his face went slack for a moment before the smirk returned.

"I never get wet."

"If you don't get out of my way, you'll have to amend that statement to 'I never got wet _before_.'" The words came out with more of a snarl than she had intended. Taking a deep breath, she met his eyes. "I'm sorry. It's been a long day." And by long day, she meant it was only a little after 10:00am, hardly late in the day. But she felt like she had been working for hours. Certainly nothing she had ever done in her life before this led to her feet aching, her eyes watering, and the muscles of her arms feeling like jelly.

"It's not even noon, Miss French," he pointed out.

She sighed. "I'm aware of that. Now if you'll excuse me, I believe there's more work for me to do."

"If it's too much for you…" He let the words trail off as he waved a hand absently in the air.

She stopped and watched him for a moment. "You _want_ me to quit, don't you?"

"Hardly…"

"No, you do. You want me to give in and tell you that you were right about me." She stepped closer to him. In the work boots she was wearing he was still only a few inches taller than her, but it was clear he was used to be intimidating.

"And where would I be if you quit?"

She made a scoffing noise at that. "Right where you were before. Alone on this little hill of yours." She almost poked him in the chest on the last words, raised her hand to do so, but finally retreated a bit. "Well, you're stuck with me. So I suggest you go back to the house and let me get to the rest of my work."

He watched her for a moment, gaze assessing, before backing up and starting to turn away from her. He paused then and glanced back at her. "Miss French." His voice was quiet as he spoke. "When you're done here, please come to the house."

And then he was gone, making his slow, careful way out of the barn. She watched him go and wondered if this was just the way things would always be with him. David had called him ornery, Mary Margaret had called him a monster. But she saw the way his shoulders slumped when he didn't think she was watching and thought that maybe, just maybe, he was a little bit lonely.

* * *

She finished the last of the chores in the barn nearly an hour later. She hoped that, with some time, it would all go smoother and she'd get them done earlier. He said about two hours a day. Everything today had taken over three hours, four if she counted all of Gold's instructions. He was fairly exacting and she was certain that the job she had done that morning would not live up to his standards.

But it was done.

And it was not done _horribly_ at least.

After finishing up and setting everything back where she found it, she made her way back to the house. She wasn't sure what to expect from him really. He had invited her in. She figured either he respect that she stuck by it or he was going to call her laughable at best and dismiss her on the spot.

The latter seemed more likely.

She knocked on the door and there was no immediate response. Pushing it open just slightly, she glanced in. He was nowhere in the immediate vicinity and she didn't hear any sound of his crutches. "Mr. Gold?" she called out.

"In here, Miss French." His voice was coming from back in the living area and so she stepped into the front hall and slipped off the muddy boots she was wearing. Truth be told, her clothes weren't much better. Her shirt was still wet and clung to her, her jeans were decorated with wet and muddy patches. All together she was sure she looked like a complete disaster.

She stepped into the living area and Mr. Gold looked up at her from the recliner he seemed to favor. "Have you nothing else to wear?" The look she gave him must have been just sheepish enough for him to understand. "You don't."

"I thought I'd be heading home right after."

He shrugged. "I'm unpredictable at best."

"And at worst?" she couldn't help asking.

"You'll no doubt find that one out eventually.” The smirk he gave her made her want to groan. She wasn’t sure she _wanted_ to see him at his worst, considering all the things that Mary Margaret had said and David had hinted at. “If you go up the stairs and enter the first room on the left. The _first_ room, mind you. And don’t go into any of the other ones. In the middle drawer there are various things you might be able to put on.”

“Seriously?” She shook her head slightly.

“I can’t have you sitting in my living room covered in mud, now can I?”

She knew he was right about that, but still. “But…” she started to say but then stopped, stared at him and got up to trudge up the stairs.

“There’s a bathroom up there you can use to change in,” he said as she started up the stairs and she just nodded as she continued up. Despite her desperate need to explore the house and find out more about her employer, she stuck to entering only the room he indicated was fine. She was probably too drained to get into much trouble right now anyway.

The room was bare, just containing a bed and a dresser. No decorations were on the walls and she suspected this was a completely unused spare room. Why he even _had_ a guest room was beyond her. Perhaps just to keep up appearances. The dresser, at least, was well stocked. She opened the middle drawer as indicated and found several pairs of warm, soft flannel pants and a few t-shirts. Pulling them out, she realized they were far too big for her, but at least they were dry and clean. _Wearing his clothes_. She grumbled to herself as she left the room and quickly changed in the bathroom, balling up her muddy clothes and carrying back downstairs with her.

“You can leave your clothes by the door.” She returned and stood awkwardly in the entrance to the room. Gold turned to look at her and for a moment his look was entirely unreadable. His eyes were wide, one hand clenching the arm of the chair he still sat in. But then it slipped away, the mask returning. But what she had seen behind that mask was raw and a little frightening.

The whistle of a tea kettle interrupted the strange moment and Belle breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ll…just go get tea?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, dearie. It’s rather hard to move sometimes.” He sounded immeasurably sad in that moment and a part of her wanted to come closer, put a hand on his shoulder, reassure him. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. And so she walked into the kitchen and dug up a teapot and cups and a tray to carry them back out to the other room with.

Her hands shook as she carried the tray out and set it down on the coffee table. Her arms ached and her fingers had a hard time closing over the edges of the tray. But she made it.

Gold leaned forward. "Milk?"

"Yes please. No sugar."

He nodded and poured her a cup before preparing one for himself. She felt awkward as she sat down, wearing his pants, his shirt. She felt naked even though she was far from it. She perfectly well covered, but she couldn't remember the last time she had been in her pajamas in front of a man who wasn't her father.

Perhaps it really _had_ been too long since she had dated anyone. Her father had been telling her that. Over and over really. He had refrained from setting her up with someone but just barely. He wanted her to be settled and happy and told her often that he wanted that before he died. So he could rest easy.

"Four hours, Miss French." Gold's voice interrupted her reverie and she wrapped her arms around herself.

"It was my first time…"

"If you find it too difficult a job…" He waved one hand in the air and she was fairly certain there was a sneer upon his face.

She chose not to rise to his provocation. "Not at all. It should be easier next time."

"Indeed?" And she _hated_ the way his voice turned it into a question. He didn't believe her. Of that much she was certain. He was biding his time, waiting for her to make a big mistake, waiting for her to throw in the towel so he could laugh and mock and jeer

She wouldn't let it happen.

"Absolutely." She leaned forward, met his eyes squarely. "I'm not one who gives up easily, Mr. Gold. Haven't you figured that out?" With a small smile, she picked up her teacup. That was probably her biggest mistake at that moment. He hand was shaking, whether from nerves or exhaustion she wasn't quite certain.

But she couldn't stop it. Her fingers on the small handle of the cup slipped and it went tumbling to the ground at her feet. It hit hard, the dull thud in the room only slightly louder than the sound of her heartbeat in her ears. She let out an audible gasp and dared a glance at Gold, who was watching her with a curious expression upon his face.

She pushed herself off the chair and knelt, careful to not kneel where any of her tea was already soaking into the carpet. It was bad enough she'd dropped the cup, spilled tea everywhere. She didn't need to also get tea on the clothes he was nice enough to lend her.

And it was worse than she thought, she realized as she picked up the cup. There was a tiny piece missing. She could see it embedded in the carpet. Holding the cup up, she turned it so the chipped corner was half facing Gold. She was almost sure he'd let her go for this alone, so odd was the look on his face. "I…um…" She bit her lip, stared at the cup in consternation. "It's chipped." Still he wore that strange look on his face and so she turned the cup again, the chip facing away from him. "You can hardly see it." And if her voice was just a little bit too bright, she didn't know if he'd even notice.

He stared at her for a moment longer before finally speaking. "It's just a cup."

She let out a breath. "And the carpet?"

"Ah yes." He looked down at where the stain and spread across the surface. The carpet was mostly dark, but the occasional white spot had turned brown from the tea. "There's a special carpet shampoo. In the kitchen, under the sink."

"Right. I'll just…clean it then." She left the room then, entirely uncertain of what had gone on. He hadn't dismissed her. He hadn't even seemed particularly bothered by it.

This man was a complete and utter mystery. Something told her she would enjoy peeling back some of those layers.


	5. Chapter 5

"Can't…move…" Belle uttered the words as she tried to get out of bed the next morning. No one was there to hear them of course, but it didn't stop her from groaning loudly as she attempted to roll over and put her feet on the ground.

She ached absolutely _everywhere_. For all her insistence that she was prepared for a job of tough manual labor, she was absolutely and completely wrong. I mean, who was she kidding anyway? She was a bookworm, a woman who had gone to school for library science. She was not a farm worker. She didn't muck out kennels and get down heavy bales of hay.

There was a reason, after all, that Gold had simply scoffed at her when she had arrived on his doorstep. Not that the infuriating man was much bigger than she was. And she had complete use of both legs currently, an advantage she would happily stick to him when he complained about the speed at which she did the chores and her abilities. He could mock her all he liked but _he_ was the one on crutches not she. And he needed her help whether or not he liked it.

It gave her an advantage.

But a small one.

She finally managed to get to her feet and make her way slowly to the bathroom. Every step was agony. The muscles of her upper arms burned when she even tried to do something simple like open the bathroom door. The shower felt heavenly though, especially as she had simply fallen into bed the night before, still smelling of the stables and wearing the pajamas she had borrowed from Gold.

She had gone _home_ in the damned things and she was happy no one had seen her come in. She could only imagine the wild stories they would tell about the mysterious stranger who was staying in Granny's Bed and Breakfast and, apparently, playing house with Mr. Gold. Oh yes, that would go over _quite_ well.

After her shower, she stumbled down the stairs and into Granny's Diner to find the place already mostly packed with people. She managed to make her way to one of the open booths and fell into it with a groan.

"You ok?" Ruby asked.

Belle would have startled at the voice if she had had the energy to do so. But she didn't, so she only groaned again, putting her head down on the table as she spoke. "I ache in places I didn't even know existed."

Ruby patted her on the back and even that was almost too much for her. "Sorry," she said. "Gold didn't try anything funny, did he?"

Belle looked up at the waitress. "Why does everyone think he would?"

"He does have a reputation…"

"For taking advantage of women?" She had heard much about Gold but he was so incredibly solitary that she couldn't really imagine him playing Don Juan at the local bar.

"Well, no. Thank God I suppose. But he takes advantage of people in a lot of ways…" Her voice trailed off and Belle grimaced slightly.

"He was a perfect gentleman with me."

"Really?"

"Well, he spent most of the time insulting my work and popping up at random times to mock me," Belle said and really the truth was Gold _was_ a difficult man to be around. She had spent most of her time there angry at him for some slight, some insult, some mocking smile or tone. He was a bastard. But he seemed to be a pretty normal one.

"Ha!"

"It's not like that Ruby. I think he's lonely." And that _was_ the heart of the matter, really. He had invited her in for tea and had spoken, if not kindly, at least decently to her. He had sent her home wearing comfortable and warm clothes. He hadn't yelled at her when she had destroyed one of his teacups and spilled tea all over his carpet. He wasn't _all_ bad. Just maybe mostly bad?

"Well, he should be. No one wants anything to do with him."

Belle just shook her head. "So I'm off today..."

"You don't have to go up every day?" Ruby seemed surprised at that.

"I think he'd like me to," she admitted. "But he gave me today off to recover from my first day. _See_ I told you he's not that bad."

"Probably just trying to save money," Ruby muttered darkly and Belle couldn't help but smile.

"Is there any place to go in town that doesn't require much energy?" She had barely gotten a chance to explore the place before getting hired at Clark's and then at Gold's.

"The library?"

"Oh!" Belle couldn't help the exclamation that escaped her and when she attempted to clap her hands over her mouth, winced with the pain of the sudden moment. "I do love books."

"Well, it opens in a couple hours and isn't open for terribly long. It's run by this crazy old bat of a lady, but she keeps it well-stocked. Plenty of romance novels and erotica." Belle almost shuddered at the happy look on Ruby's face about that last one.

"I'm actually more into historical fiction."

"Well, I'm sure they have that too," Ruby said with an almost too-bright smile. "Check with Ariel."

"Ariel? Like _The Little Mermaid_?"

Ruby laughed. "Her parents were _huge_ fans, apparently. She volunteers at the library. Sweet girl. I think you and she would get along."

Belle smiled and thanked her and then was left in peace to contemplate just how many muscles could ache in a body at the same time.

* * *

The library had been easy enough to find, but by the time Belle got there she had to sit down again. This simply wouldn't do. She supposed there was the whole "no pain, no gain" thing to contemplate but even that didn't make her feel better. Hopefully she would get used to this as she got stronger. But it sure didn't make it any easier that morning.

She had found several books that interested her, though she opted for one and one only. She could handle carrying one small paperback book of twisted fairytales. She had also met Ariel and Ruby had been right. They had hit it off instantly, their love for books and their insatiable curiosity making the conversation flow easily.

They had plans to meet later that afternoon. A nice lunch at Granny's Diner with someone who actually hadn't flinched when she said she was working for Mr. Gold would be refreshing. She saw the way people looked at her. Rumors spread quickly in small towns and this one was no different. Already the whispers had started. What kind of girl worked for the monster on the hill, after all? Not the kind of girl they wanted to get to know.

She wouldn’t say she’d been shunned in the past few hours, but people had been giving her looks, shaking their heads. One woman had gone so far as to ask if she might like a job watching her children, that surely she could find something else to do.

But a hundred dollars an hour? No. She had taken on the job and she would see it through to the end. Or to when Gold fired her. Either way, she was going nowhere.

* * *

He wouldn’t exactly say he was _drunk_ , but…well…maybe he was just a little bit drunk. Or maybe it was the Vicodin he had taken for the pain in his knee. He had tried to go out and muck the damned stalls on his own but the fall from the other day was affecting him more than he’d like to admit.

And he’d given the girl the day off.

One day after she started working.

She looked exhausted the night before, shaking and cold. He wasn’t sure that once she settled in for the night if she would actually get back up. There was no sense in working her to death. She wouldn’t keep working for him if it was too much for her.

And she _must_ keep working for him. He didn’t know why, couldn’t even begin to analyze _why_ , but something had shifted him inside him as he watched her kneeling on the carpet, her blue eyes wide with worry, a crease between her brows. She was feisty, but he could see the fear in her in that moment. He was sure she knew his reputation and he was sure she was waiting for him to simply be done with her.

But he hadn’t. He had sent her home and told her to rest up and not come back until the day after this one.

So he was left to his own devices and Vicodin and a little whisky seemed like a good idea. Oh, his _doctor_ wouldn’t think it was. _Don’t mix this with alcohol._ He was quite clear on that one, but what harm did a little bit of the two do? He felt mellow, more relaxed than he had in awhile.

Which was why when the knock came at the door, he simply shouted at whomever it was to come in. He knew who it would be. Or well, he suspected. It wouldn’t be the girl… _Miss French_. She was no doubt flat on her back at home cursing his existence and the job she had fought so hard to take. So that left only one person. No one else would invade his inner sanctum.

His eyes opened as he heard the heavy fall of boots. “If you track anything into here, I’m going to kill you.” His words were slightly slurred, the intent behind them a bit blurred with his inability to enunciate properly.

“Are you drunk?” David asked and Gold met his eyes, smirked.

“Never.”

“You’re drinking…”

“This is my first one.” He paused there, picked up the glass. “Well, the first one this hour at least.”

“Gold…”

“Oh, don’t you take that threatening voice with me, boy.” He pointed a finger at him. “I’m in pain.”

“You have medication for that,” David pointed out and wasn’t he just the father figure? He supposed he was getting ready for the birth of his first child, a daughter apparently.

“I’m not your child.” And if the words were a bit sullen, he couldn’t quite help it. He was sick of the medication, of the pain, of the inability to move about without the aids of his crutches. And a cane. The doctors said soon he would be off the crutches all together but he would need a bloody _cane_ to walk with, as if he were a decrepit ninety-year-old instead of merely a hair over fifty.

“Still…”

“I took Vicodin,” he pointed out.

“With whisky?”

“Aye.” He took another sip. Single-malt, a beautiful 25-year-old Talisker. Glancing back up at David he gave him a slight sneer. “Don’t tell me I can’t, Mr. Nolan. I’m old enough to be your father.”

The other man just shook his head.

“That’s not what you came here for though, is it?” He knew. David Nolan was a nosy one at times and his wife even nosier. He wouldn’t call them _gossips_ per se, and in fact they were a good sight better than the rest of the town in that regard. But when it came to him, they were always there, always wanting to check in on him.

He suspected that it was because they were _good people_. And he tended to detest _good people_.

“No,” David finally managed to say. “Where’s Belle?”

“Ah yes, the little flower you made me hire.” He waved a hand in the air.

“I didn’t make you…”

“She’s fine,” he cut him off with. “I gave her the day off.”

“You…”

Gold raised one eyebrow. “I am _sometimes_ a decent human being.” There was a sardonic twist to the words.

“I never said you weren’t.”

He just gave him a look. He knew better. He knew what David Nolan thought of him. Though why the man continued to show up, help him, was somewhat beyond him. He had a good heart, he supposed, one that hadn’t been beaten and crushed into a blackened mess like his own.

A strange look crossed David's face, something between fascination and horror. "You _like_ her, don't you?"

"What?" Gold was quick to respond. Perhaps a little too quick.

"You do." David crossed his arms over his chest. "That's why you hired her."

"There may be a certain _allure_ to Miss French," he admitted. "She's a beautiful woman…" His voice trailed off. Let Nolan think he was a superficial clod. Sometimes it was easier that way. Easier than admitting he had any sort of heart.

David shook his head. "There's more there than that." He stepped forward. "Just don't hurt her."

Gold scoffed. "Now you're _her_ father?"

"I just don't want you doing anything horrible to her. I told her about you…"

"Apparently you didn't tell her _enough_ because it appears she plans to come back," Gold pointed out.

"I brought her here and insisted you consider her for this job," David continued like he hadn't just been interrupted. Gold supposed he was used to it after all this time.

"Fine," he muttered. David just smiled and didn't say another word. "Did you want something else, Mr. Nolan, besides badgering me about Miss French?"

"Do you need me to muck out the stalls?"

"No. More work for Miss French tomorrow." Gold smirked.

David shook his head. "Fine. I'll feed them though." He held up a hand when Gold started to protest. "I saw what happened the last time you attempted it on your own. Better safe than sorry."

Gold inclined his head. "Thank you."

Nolan left then and Gold breathed a sigh of relief. Just what was it _with_ that man? Sometimes he was far too perceptive for his own good and sometimes he just refused to see the obvious. Gold was a loner, a shark amongst the fishes. He wasn't one meant for relationships of any sort, romantic or otherwise. Nolan's less than subtle attempts at dipping his toe in that water were really _not_ appreciated.

_Then why do you take it from him?_

Very good question. Leaning back, he knocked back the rest of the shot of whisky, choosing to let it trace a path of fire down his throat than properly sip the expensive liquor. Drunk. That seemed like a good idea.

* * *

"So what's it like working for Gold?"

Belle shouldn't have been surprised by the first question out of Ariel's mouth and yet she was. They had taken up residence at Granny's during a quiet time. Ruby was wiping down the corner and giving them curious looks once in awhile. Granny was setting out the pies and occasionally whispering something to Ruby.

"Well," Belle started with but hesitated. "It's only been one day." One day of hell, if she was honest.

"Right." Ariel's voice trailed off and she pursed her lips.

"I don't think it's going to be easy."

"No?"

Belle shook her head. Easy was definitely not the word she was looking for when it came to the job she had taken on. "Well, it's a lot of work. Hauling stuff around and whatnot."

"Yes, but what is it like working for _Gold_?" Ariel gave her a look. _That_ look. The one that said _you know exactly what I mean so stop pretending you don't._ "I mean, no one really knows him. We all have this image of him in our head but it's all just rumors and speculation. He rarely comes down off that hill, you know."

"It must be lonely," Belle said. "Living up there all by himself." He holed himself up in his house, surrounded by his antiques and fancy teas and dogs.

"He has no friends?" She was almost sure she heard a sad note to Ariel's voice as she spoke.

"Well, there's David Nolan. But I don't think they're friends really. Mr. Gold seems more annoyed by him than anything." She suspected they were friendly more out of necessity than anything else, two shepherds living in the hills surrounding the little town. They had a fair bit in common, it seemed, and perhaps that was why Gold tolerated the younger man.

"Mary Margaret's husband?"

"You seem surprised at that."

"Well…I guess?" Ariel shrugged her shoulders. "Mary Margaret's such a sweet woman. She comes into the library frequently to find books to read to the children in her classes. She's expecting her own, you know. Soon I think. She looks pretty big."

"David seems like a good man. He helped me get the job, though I suspect he's probably regretting that." She said the last with a somewhat amused smirk. "But Gold? He's not so bad." She stretched, feeling the sore muscles all the way down her body, feeling the pop and crack of tendons and ligaments. "A little sarcastic, but not so bad."

In all honesty she wasn't sure she'd hate working for the man. He was certainly difficult, contrary and disagreeable as he was. But there was something about him, something lurking below the surface. She had seen the way he looked at those dogs, the way he spoke to them. His voice had softened and there had been _real_ affection there. She had found that strangely attractive, a side of him that she suspected he hid from the world.

She had, really, only known him a couple days. But she sensed that what was on the surface was not the real Gold. Not who he was deep down. Layers upon layers, she suspected. More than enough for her to peel back.

They ended their lunch shortly and Belle saw Ariel off. She had to get back to the library after all. They vowed to meet soon and with a hug, they parted. Belle stepped up to the counter and flagged down Ruby. She had been staying at the inn since she had first arrived in town, but now that she was stepping into a stable job, making a decent amount of money, she really needed to get out, stop taking advantage of their generosity.

"Gold owns most of this town, " Ruby responded with a delicate shudder. "Why don't you ask him?"

"He owns the town?"

"Pretty much," her grandmother said, stepping closer. "Even this diner."

"Is that why everyone hates him?"

Granny scoffed. "Everyone hates him because he's a bastard."

"Oh…" Belle wasn't sure how to respond to that. People in this town didn't do things in halves, that was for sure.

"Look, we have plenty of room at here for you. It's not like Storybrooke is a big tourist trap or anything." The last was said with a bit of humor but Belle could also hear the edge to it. What use was a bed and breakfast with no one to enjoy either?

"I can't keep taking advantage of your generosity," Belle started with. "Surely you can get more than fifty dollars a week for that room…"

"Fine," Granny cut her off with. "We need a little more help around here. You help out on the second shift. Do a bit of waitressing and clearing tables and you can stay at the inn for free."

Belle blinked. It would mean more money for her father, more money to set aside for herself. She looked from Granny, with her face set in a slight scowl, to Ruby who looked pleased as punch. "Ok," she finally said. "You have a deal."


	6. Chapter 6

Belle wouldn’t say the rest of the week went _well_. But it went by fast at least. The first day back after her short break was the hardest. She still ached. Her whole body felt like she had been held against a brick wall while a truck slammed into her…repeatedly. She did her damnedest to hide it though. Each time Gold showed up to taunt her, to watch her work, to just be a complete and utter nuisance, she had smiled brightly, moved quickly. He went away each time grumbling and she hoped it was because she was exceeding his rather pathetic expectations for her.

And she had _no_ doubt at all that he had expected her to walk on the first day. He had poked at her, needled her and insulted her. He continued through the first week, though the remarks had gone from just plain rude to almost teasing. There was a note in his voice, a sort of strange respect lighting his eyes, that made her keep going.

But he still did try to chase her off.

He almost succeeded the middle of the day when he showed up while she was carting water and made her spill it all over the floor. Really, he took great joy in startling her, in leaving her feeling slightly off. _Oh I’m just here for the dogs_ , he had said and gone on his way, using the crutches to maneuver himself around her.

He was getting more at ease with the aids, though she still saw him cast a rather resentful glare at the things on occasion. He would be off them soon and using a cane to get around and from what she gathered, he may never walk without it. Somehow she thought that probably wounded his pride.

She didn’t know him, not that well yet, but there was one thing that was obvious. Gold was a proud man and no doubt being brought low by a mere car accident, requiring help, was beyond the pale for him.

She wondered if he was always like this. Difficult and acerbic.

She wondered if he had once been softer, kinder, if he hadn’t looked at people as if they were bothersome.

It was late on that Friday, her final day of work that week. Gold had asked her to put in a little extra work preparing the feed for the sheep so that he could easily take care of the chore over the weekend.

They had adjusted her schedule sometime during the first week. Originally, he had planned to have her around seven days a week but it seemed he decided he valued his privacy a bit more than that. Weekends were her own, but that meant putting in more hours during the week. Mondays would be long. Mucking out the stalls after a weekend of use would be harder, but it also meant she could enjoy some time at the library and get in some reading on her days off. It seemed a fair trade and one she had accepted eagerly.

She hadn’t stayed so long past noon as she did that day, making sure everything was set to rights. Fresh bedding, fresh food and water, the food doled out in small, easy-to-transport portions. When she stepped back to survey her handiwork, she was sure that she was starting to get the hang of the job.

Oh, she still ached, but she was getting accustomed to the smell and the pattern of things on the farm. With a contented sigh, she stepped out into the cool afternoon air. It may be nearing April, but the air still carried a bit of a winter chill. The wind up on the hill whipped her hair across her face and she tucked her ponytail back and into the coat she was wearing, tugged the hat on that she had tucked into her pocket some time ago.

It was desolate up on the hill, the few trees that dotted the landscape still stripped bare. Spring came late in Maine, no great rush of warm air and green grass, but instead sneaking in slowly until one day you looked around and realized that winter had finally ended.

That day the grass still looked half dead, flat and soaked with the run-off from the last of the winter snow melting. The sky was grey, not the sort of grey made up of wispy clouds of varying monochrome shades, but the kind that was flat and uninteresting, one great sea of grey hovering low over the hills. It kept the temperature warmer than it might have otherwise, but it also felt cool and damp and close.

She took a deep breath, looked out over the hillside. The sheep were high up the hill, just where they were most days when she left the farm. But this day she realized the dogs had been left out and Gold was making his way slowly toward the hill. He was a good distance from her, certainly too far for her to shout much at him with the way the wind whipped across her face. It would steal her voice away, carrying it back toward the house rather than toward Gold.

And so instead she simply watched as he finally got to the base of the hill, wind sending his hair flying around his face. He didn't bother to tie it back or put a hat on and he didn't even seem to notice it as he stopped. The dog at his side stopped too. Taz, she assumed. It had to be. The red and white dog seemed to always be at Gold's side. She wondered if the dog even slept with him and then felt her cheeks warm with the embarrassment when she realized she was contemplating his sleeping arrangements and if he slept in the pajamas she had returned to him the other day. The image was not one that found unappealing.

She was startled out of her reverie by the sound of a sharp whistle. Taz took off from Gold's side like a shot. The big dog was just a tiny speck as he raced up alongside the hill. She'd never seen a dog move so fast nor so gracefully as he flew up the left side and then turned right. Graceful. Easy. The dog moved like nothing she'd never seen.

Gold stood at the base, leaning heavily on one crutch, whistle still in his mouth. As the dog reached the center of the hill, just behind the sheep, it turned, slowed. The sheep started to move almost as one. The dog followed behind, skirting to one side and then the other to keep the sheep in line and moving. One sheep almost made a break for it. She could see it happening, the separation start. Gold let out two quick whistles and the dog turned on a dime, gathered it up, kept them moving.

It was like a dance, she realized, the dog weaving in and out, Gold's control. He was intense, hair swept back from his face by the wind, whistle still in his mouth. Every once in awhile he let out a piercing screech from the whistle, sometimes long, sometimes two short whistles. She didn't know what any of them meant, but the dog clearly did, laying down, creeping up on the sheep, moving quickly to head off any attempted escapes.

She realized it wasn't even that Gold was in control, not really at least. Man and dog worked as a team.

As the dog and sheep came closer to Gold, he lifted the crutches and started to hobble backward. It wasn't easy for him and more than once, she wanted to rush to him, help keep him up. But she didn't. She didn't move. She _couldn't_ move. And as he came near, crossed paths with her, she wanted to speak. But he was concentrating, his entire focus on the sheep, keeping the dog balanced on the other side as the dog drove them toward him. Always toward him.

She could see how it worked, at least on a superficial level. Keep moving where you want the sheep to go, keep the dog balanced at the other side and the sheep fell naturally in line. When they got to the barn, Gold stepped back and used his crutch and the aid of the dog to get all of the recalcitrant animals into their stalls and the doors shut behind them.

Taz stayed at the ready for a moment more, crouched, staring intently at the door where the sheep could still be heard, though not seen. And then Gold looked down at the dog, his lips quirked in a soft smile, unlike anything she had seen from him in the week she had been around him. He was usually all hard edges and sarcastic smirks. But this was genuine fondness and she liked the way it made his whole demeanor softer, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners just slightly. "That'll do," he said quietly and the dog relaxed its stance immediately and leaned against Gold. He reached down as best he could around the crutches he still held and scratched the dog behind the ears.

It was a tender moment.

She wasn't sure she was really meant to be there and so stepped back just slightly, tried to turn away.

"You're still here, Miss French?" His voice was soft as he spoke and she turned back toward him, bit her lip as she looked at him.

"I'm afraid so. I…um…just finished."

"Hmph," was all he said before walking off, leaving her standing in the barn watching his retreating form.

A moment later he paused. "Are you coming?"

"Of course." She hadn't intended to head into the house, but she followed immediately. Taz looped around behind her and she was _almost_ sure the dog was herding _her_ this time. She hesitated and the dog rushed forward, just a tiny bit, eyes intense.

"If you don't come along, Miss French, Taz may resort to nipping at your heels." She glanced over at him, surprised to hear the humor in his voice, to see it in the small half-smile he offered her. For that moment he looked younger, more boyish. She had an image of what he might have looked like before whatever in life had beaten him down to the hard man he had become. And then it was gone.

He dropped his gaze, turned slowly, and finished the walk to the house. She followed in silence and though he never turned to look back at her, she was sure he knew she was there not far behind. She trailed him by a few feet, allowing him to take the lead despite his halting gait.

As they entered the house, he turned back toward her and his gaze traced her body from head to toe. She shivered at the intensity of the look and then was surprised when it turned almost playful. "It seems you escaped bathing in the sheep water this time."

"I do catch on eventually," she said, equally playful. She would follow his lead. It was easier that way. He seemed skittish, in some ways an animal that was still half-feral. If she pushed too hard, he was sure to go to ground to escape her.

And she didn't want him to.

That realization suddenly dawned on her and left her reeling slightly. How odd. How totally unexpected. She _wanted_ to get to know him, figure out what hid behind the layers of sarcasm and pain. She suspected there was someone worth getting to know inside, if she could just dig deep enough to get to him.

"Please have a seat," he started to say.

She took a couple steps toward him. "Do you want me to get us tea?"

"I'm perfectly well capable of doing that on my own, Miss French." His voice was terse and for a moment he bared his teeth at her in a snarl. "I'm sorry." He took a deep breath. "I am not used to company."

"I see that," she muttered.

"Nor am I an invalid. I will be with you in a moment."

As he left the hall and she retreated to the living room, she so desperately wanted to remind him that _she_ served them tea the last time, when he had been too exhausted and probably in too much pain to get up and take care of it, that it didn't make him an invalid if he asked for help. But she let him do what he needed to. Tonight his pride was taking the driver's seat and he had relegated his practical side to somewhere in the back. His moods seemed to change quickly and without warning.

He came out a short time later and sat on the edge of his favorite recliner, leaned forward to watch her. "I underestimated you, Miss French."

She cocked her head to the side.

"I thought you'd walk out on your first day, but here you are. The end of a whole week. How _did_ you manage it?" And he sounded impressed. Honestly impressed.

"Grit? Determination? I'm not the sort to give up on things, Mr. Gold. Not even _you_ could chase me off once I set my mind to it."

He made a slight humming noise in the back of his throat as he poured the tea. When she reached for one of the cups, he smacked her hand away lightly and picked up the one she had been reaching for. The one with the chip. Her eyes met his and she cocked her head to the side. He shrugged. She didn't quite know what to make of that. "And yet I could have sent you on your way."

"Yes, well…" She hesitated over the words, not quite sure what to say. "I'm the only one who decides my fate."

"I hardly think that's how interviews go."

She let out a small laugh at that. "I wasn't taking no for an answer."

"Obviously." He pushed the hair back from falling in his eyes.

"That was beautiful," she blurted out and for a moment she wasn't sure if she meant the way his hair fell back into his eyes, the silky strands begging for attention, or if she was referring to the exhibition on the hill.

There was a slight furrowing of his brow at her words, a little cock to the head. “Pardon?”

She let out a small laugh. “Sorry. It’s just…I was watching you. With your dog?”

“Ah, right.” For a moment he looked almost embarrassed.

“It was this amazing dance of coordination and grace. I’ve never seen anything like it.” There was a beauty to it. _He_ was beautiful when he was standing out there, wind in his hair, eyes trained on the dog that had been so distant and yet still so connected to him.

“It’s everyday farm life, Miss French.” The words were dismissive. She expected nothing else out of him, really. But she was almost sure she saw a little blush on his cheeks.

“It may be, but I’ve never seen it before,” she pointed out. “City girl, you know.”

“I never would have guessed.” The words were dry and the twist of his lip a bit sarcastic. “Where _did_ you grow up?”

“Where did you?” she shot back. It wasn’t that his question irked, not exactly. But she had heard it many times since moving to the States. More times than she cared to count. Some by people interested. Some by people who just wanted to insult her for her “funny accent.”

“Scotland, actually. Near Glasgow.” His eyes met hers and she saw the pride there.

“With a name like Gold?” He looked taken aback at that, his brow furrowing just slightly. “That doesn’t sound very Scottish,” she added.

“I assure you my first name is quite Scottish.” She had to laugh at the defensive tone to his voice.

“Is it now?”

“It is.”

“And that first name would be…” She couldn’t deny that she had wondered. He had even signed the paperwork she had for the job as _Mr. T. Gold_.

He watched her for a moment. “You’re from Australia somewhere.”

She just raised an eyebrow at the abrupt change of subject. “I am.” He waved a hand at her. “Oh you wanted to know _where_?” She leaned forward, her eyes met his and she smirked. Two could play at this game. “Tell me your name and I’ll tell you where I’m from.”

He leaned back in his chair. “It’s not that important.”

She heaved a sigh. “Fine. I’m from Sydney, if you must know. And I’ve spent almost all my life here in the States in other big cities.” Apparently two _couldn’t_ play at his game. Not yet at least. But if she opened up, even just a little, he might consider opening up to her as well.

“What made you come here? Surely you had a family and friends? So why come to Storybrooke? Why get stuck working for the monster on the hill?”

“You’re not a monster,” she immediately responded with and realized just how much she meant it. When he raised his eyebrows, she responded with. “You’re _not_. As to why I’m here? My father.” She took a deep breath. “He’s dying, you see. Cancer. There’s a hospital nearby with experimental drugs…”

“He’s in the hospital?”

He seemed worried at that, maybe even a little contrite. She nodded, watched him carefully. “It costs a lot of money.” She trailed off and they fell into silence for a time. She sipped her tea and he sipped his and she worried about revealing so much about her personal life. He didn’t need to know that. No one did. As the silence dragged on, she felt the blush creeping up her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you that.”

He was silent a moment longer. “No,” he said, the word quiet but firm. “I’m glad you told me.”

“I _told_ you that you’re not a monster,” she pointed out and hoped he could hear the smile lurking in her voice.

“You did.”

“And you’re not.”

“I could fire you right now.”

She was almost sure she could hear a bit of light sarcasm behind the words. “You could. But you’re not going to.”

“And why do you think that is?” He met her eyes then and his were unfathomable and dark. He _could_ fire her. And maybe he should. She certainly wasn’t adept at this sort of work. The first week had proved that. Her muscles still ached like nothing she’d ever felt and getting out of bed in the morning was an exercise in near-futility. She had to roll out, almost dump herself on the ground, just to get to her feet.

It had gotten slightly better over the course of the week, which was a good sign, but she couldn’t say that she felt _good_ exactly. Just not _as bad_.

“Because you like me?”

He let out a scoffing sound.

“You _do_.”

He shook his head. “You do decent work…for a girl from Sydney.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You are far too cheerful, Miss French. It seems life hasn’t quite beaten that out of you yet.”

The look she gave him was serious, mouth turned down. “Sometimes you have to choose between being miserable and being happy, Mr. Gold. I choose to be happy.”

“Even if the world is falling down about your ears?”

“ _Especially_ then.” Her father was in the hospital, ill, dying unless the experimental drugs could save his life. She was in a new place with no real friends, working at a job with a man who was difficult at best. Life _was_ falling down about her ears. But she had picked herself up. Met people. Gotten a job that she at least enjoyed to some degree even if she wasn’t all that good at it. She was _doing_ something and it kept her spirits buoyed.

Gold watched her and then finally shook his head. “Oh, to be so young and naïve.”

“I am neither young _nor_ naïve, Mr. Gold.” The words were clipped. “I’m simply left two choices in life. Be happy or not. It seems we’ve made different choices.”

“We have,” he confirmed.

She was not surprised to find he sounded a bit amused by it all. Setting her cup down, she shook her head. “I think it’s time for me to go.” She stood then and the pain of trying to stretch aching muscles almost made her fall back down on the chair. Steadying herself on the nearby wall, she couldn’t help the small groan that escaped her.

“Are you quite alright, Miss French?” Gold’s voice came from too close behind her and she would have jumped at the closeness if that wouldn’t have caused even _more_ pain.

“I’ll be fine,” she muttered and took a couple steps, testing the movement of her muscles and finding she still hurt all over.

“You don’t seem fine,” he pointed out and she let out a small bark of laughter. “Wait here a moment,” he said and then disappeared from the room. She could hear the soft thump of his crutches on the floor as he left, though she didn’t dare turn her head to watch.

He was back a moment later and holding something out toward her. She took it, glanced down at the nondescript jar she held in her hands, and then back up to him, the question evident in her eyes.

“Muscle rub,” he said softly. Her eyebrows shot up. “It seems that I have, perhaps, overworked you just a wee bit.”

She was silent, no idea what to say to him in this moment of decency. “And so muscle rub?”

“It smells absolutely wretched but I assure you it _will_ help.” His lips quirked with a small smile and she had the feeling he knew all too well how bad the stuff smelled.

“Why?”

He shrugged. “You’ll do better work next week if you’re not in pain.”

Somehow she knew that wasn’t the reason. She just _knew_. And so she stepped toward him, put her hand over his where it held one of the crutches. “Thank you.” He froze under her touch, body stiffening, his hand gripping the crutch just a bit harder than was necessary. She released him then and turned to go, a small smile on her face.


	7. Chapter 7

It was the middle of the next week when Gold stopped by again. He had mostly left her alone the first few days. Monday had indeed been hard, but she was up to the challenge. The muscle rub he had given her _was_ good and while she still felt a bit achy, it certainly had made her feel a little bit more supple. She didn't feel like she was going to collapse at least. She supposed that was a start.

And she was sure she was getting stronger. It had only been a week and a half but she felt like something was _coming_ of this. She wasn't one who was used to physical labor, preferring research and books to such a thing, but she was starting to actually enjoy it. And that surprised her more than anything.

Gold stepped into one of the stalls as she was dumping water into the trough. When she turned, bucket still in hand, she nearly ran into him. "Careful," she said, a little quirk to her lips. "A little earlier and you might have ended up soaked."

"I suspect you might do that just out of spite, Miss French."

"Do you really think I'm that sort of woman?" She smirked as she said the words and was rewarded with a small scoffing noise. Perhaps he already knew her better than she thought he did. Glancing down, she noted he was leaning rather heavily on a cane. "No crutches?"

"The doctor cleared me," he stated. Leaning back he raised his damaged foot, now encased in a brace instead of the heavy cast he had been wearing.

"That's quite a fashion statement."

"Indeed." He was quiet for a moment, hands clenching and unclenching over the top of the cane, staring down at his foot, at the cane. She was almost positive that he hated the thing, perhaps even more than the crutches. There was every chance that he would spend the rest of his life using that cane and she was sure that he deeply resented that fact. "Miss French?" he finally managed to say, looking up again to meet her eyes. She nodded. "When you're done here, I'd like you to join me on the hill."

And then he was gone, his uneven gait carrying him as quickly as he could out of the barn.

He didn't give her a choice, she realized, and shook her head.

The rest of the chores went easily enough. She didn't rush. But she didn't drag either. She was curious about what he had in store for her and so wrapped up quicker than she had on the previous days. When she stepped out of the barn, she fully expected to find no sign of Gold, but he was out there already. He stood off to the left side of the hill, Taz at his side. She wasn't sure he went anywhere without the dog, really. He was always there on the farm, inside the house, constantly attentive and watching Gold, waiting for him to issue a command, use that whistle of his.

He stood near a small pen that contained just a few sheep, not the thirty-something that she had watched him control with the help of his dog.

When he noticed her approach, he turned toward her and she realized he was holding a dog in his arms. Black and white, small, probably bit more puppy than dog, it squirmed in Gold's arms. "You remember Bandit," he said and released the dog.

The dog flew out of his arms and leapt at Belle, nearly knocking her off her feet before taking off around the hill in great loops. It would occasionally almost skid into one of them before taking off again. Yes. She did remember her. She seemed to recall being almost knocked on her butt the last time she had met the overly enthusiastic dog.

"And Bandit would be…"

"Your dog.” Her eyebrows rose at that news, but before she got a chance to say anything, he continued. “You're going to learn how to herd." It was a statement, not a question.

"What?" Her voice was a little more high-pitched than she would have liked.

"You were interested in it," he pointed out. "So you're going to learn how to do it."

"Why?" she asked.

"Why not?" And perhaps he had a point. Why not, indeed.

Bandit went flying past her again and she turned to Gold. "So what do I do?"

He smiled. "Get ahold of her, keep her close, and bring her into the pen." He opened the gate to the pen, using his cane to keep the sheep back, before stepping through. After a few attempts, Belle was able to get ahold of the long line that Bandit was attached to and reel in the exuberant young dog.

She stepped inside the pen and let the gate close behind her. Bandit _trembled_ at her side. She could feel the excitement wafting off the dog as she zig-zagged back and forth in front of her, desperate to get to the sheep, desperate to do _something_ that perhaps even the dog didn’t understand just yet. "Now what?"

He reached over and handed her a thin piece of PVC piping that was leaning against the side of the pen. She took it, held it close to her. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“This is an extension of yourself.” He took it from her, held it out in front of him. “It will give you more reach, extend your arms and, in a way, the size of your body.”

“It’s plumbing.”

He laughed. “It is. But it’s lighter weight than any crook and far better for early training.” She gave him a skeptical look. “Just hold onto it. Now come. Release her. We need to see what she can do. And more importantly, I need to see what _you_ can do.”

Belle dropped the line and Bandit was off like a shot. She circled around the sheep once, twice, then again. Every once in awhile she drove in closer to them and when they started to move away, she circled again. To the left, to the right, everything in near continuous movement. Belle watched, not even sure what she was supposed to be looking for. The sheep would come flying at her and she’d step back out of the way. The dog would fly around them again, the sheep would move, Belle would sidestep them. It was like a dizzying dance, not the calm one she had watched Gold enact with his dog.

"You need to stop her." Gold said.

Belle tried to grab Bandit as she flew past her but it was like attempting to get ahold of a greased pig. The dog slipped through and kept moving. The sheep skittered left then right as the dog careened around them.

"With your stick," Gold pointed out.

"I don't hit dogs."

"I'm not saying _hit_ her," he shot back. "You need to put pressure on her to convince her to stay out on the other side." He stepped past her. "Like this." As Bandit came around the sheep one more time he raised his cane and immediately Bandit turned, avoiding the cane and headed back in the direction she came from. "Now you."

Belle stepped forward and raised her stick as Bandit came around to the right. The dog simply dodged it and kept moving. On the next go-around she tried it again, no luck. Finally on the third time Belle timed the motion of the stick as she raised it and drove it into the ground in front of the dog perfectly and Bandit darted back and away from it.

Bandit ran in the other direction and Gold shouted at her to keep the dog moving to the other side of the sheep, balance them toward her. Step back. Let the sheep come to her, stop the dog from coming behind her, use the stick. His commands to her were firm and hers to the dog were equally firm.

It was all about pressure. Shepherd to dog, dog to sheep. The motion was dizzying. It was almost a comedy of errors, the dog continuously evading the stick, still racing in circles. And then one time she hesitated. Just slightly. She was out beyond the sheep and had slowed down

"Lie down," Gold said and the dog dropped to her belly immediately.

"Yes," Gold said and the word came from far too close behind her. "Watch her. She's getting it." He stepped closer to her, put one hand on her shoulder. Bandit was staring at the sheep and she seemed almost transfixed by the beasts.

Belle turned her head slightly, met Gold's eyes. "Step back," he whispered, pulling lightly at her shoulder. She went with him, backing up a couple steps. Bandit stayed still, in her down, watching the sheep. "To the left," he said and pulled her to the left a little. Gold stopped her from going any further for a moment.

"What are…"

"Walk up," Bandit immediately crept forward. The sheep moved toward where Belle and Gold stood.

She could hardly breathe. They took a few steps at a diagonal angle and watched as Bandit compensated, shooting out to her left a bit and driving the sheep forward.

"The goal," Gold managed to say, "is to always… _always_ …keep the sheep between you and the dog. If you go one way, the dog should balance the sheep and move them toward you." They stepped several feet to the right and Bandit balanced them one more time

"Surely there must be more than that," Belle murmured and was rewarded by Gold's hand squeezing her shoulder once before dropping away.

"So much more," he responded with, his voice soft and devastating so close to her ear. "But this is only the first lesson, Miss French. There's so much more to come."

She nodded, trying to ignore the shiver that raced up her spine.

They continued the dance for a moment more, first one way, then the other, always just a handful of steps in the small pen. Gold allowed her to do it a few times on her own and then told her to release Bandit from her duties.

"How?"

"Bandit," he said in response and she watched the dog's eyes flick toward him for just a moment before she returned to watching the sheep. "That'll do."

One moment the dog was focused, intense, and in the next she was loping toward them with her tongue lolling out of one side of her mouth. Belle took a deep breath. "That was _amazing_."

She had never seen something like that from so close, watching as the dog caught on, as the dog started to get her job right. Bandit trotted over to her and lay at her side and it was clear the mental task had left the young dog fairly tired, but no doubt happy. She was finding her job, her place in the world.

Belle was somewhat envious. She wished she could find _her_ place so easily.

"It is," he said.

They remained quiet for another moment, before Gold turned toward the gate to the pen, leaning heavily on it as he exited. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"You're just going to leave it there?" Belle felt surprised at that. Somehow she had expected _more._

"Of course. Dogs don't learn this overnight and neither do you." He waggled a finger at her. "Tomorrow," he said one more time and opened the gate wide. The three sheep that had been penned in darted out and immediately made their way up the hill, the draw to the rest of the herd obvious as soon as they realized where they were.

Gold walked off, Taz at his side, leaving Belle and young Bandit on the hillside. "Come on, Bandit." She made her way back to the barn and left her in the heated part of the barn with the rest of the dogs. She left the farm for the day then, not seeing another sign of Gold as she headed off.

* * *

It had been a long evening at the diner. For the past week Belle had been helping out when they were short-handed or when things were especially busy. And tonight was perhaps the worst she'd ever seen it. It was a cold night, rainy, and it seemed that it had driven everyone into the diner. The place was positively packed and Ruby had begged for the additional help. Belle was tired, still reeling a bit from her impromptu sheepherding lessons, but she couldn't refuse the young waitress.

And so she had been serving people for several hours that night. Her whole body ached. She was exhausted. When things finally quieted down a little after eight that night, Belle and Ruby had put up their feet, leaned up against the wall, and taken deep breaths.

"So how's working for Gold going?

Belle shook her head. "Fine, I suppose? He's teaching me how to herd."

Ruby gave her a rather cock-eyed look. "What brought that on?"

"My interest in it, apparently." She still didn't quite know how admiring what he did with the dogs translated to her wanting to become a shepherd herself, but she supposed the man was lonely and she the more time she spent with him, the more she couldn't quite shake that idea.

"Odd," Ruby said and looked up to find Granny looking over them. "Oops, back to work with us!"

The rest of their shift was mostly uneventful. Leroy drank too much and made a nuisance of himself, but he _always_ did that. Granny damned near threw out Killian Jones and his crew. They were troublemakers, the lot of them. They had been caught attempting to sell stolen goods more than once and Jones himself had been caught shoplifting some pretty expensive items from the electronics store in the next town over. They were bad news, but unless they were specifically doing something _wrong_ , there was little Ruby or her grandmother could do.

David Nolan stopped in and Belle was so very pleased to see him. He gave her a strange look, however, when she told him she was learning to herd and she desperately wanted to ask _what_ it was about, but the moment had passed and he had picked up his meal to go. Mary Margaret was some eight and a half months pregnant, her due date looming large, and didn't dare come out in case everything was set into motion and she didn't have anything they had prepared for the event.

Belle had just finished serving a lovely elderly couple when she turned back toward the door to greet the newcomers. "Can I help…you?" Her voice faded away on the last syllable, seeing Gold standing just inside the door. He looked a little strung out, hair sticking out on end, and he was gripping the cane like his very life depended on it. "Mr. Gold." And her voice might have sounded far more welcoming and warm than any might have imagined.

"Belle," he said and she did not miss that he had used her first name for the first time. "Miss French." He stumbled over the words. "What are you doing?"

He seemed almost offended and she might have laughed if he didn't look so damned serious. "I'm working."

"You work for _me_." The words weren't exactly _growled_ at her, but they were close.

"Yes I do." She cocked her head to the side in confusion.

"Then why are you _here_?" He pointed at the ground on the last word, emphatic.

"They offered me free room and board."

"If you work yourself to death?" And did he actually look a bit concerned over her? His brows had been drawn low over his eyes and he glared at the people in the diner. Everyone who had stopped to watch their conversation went back to eating, talking with their loved ones. But she was sure they were keeping half an ear to the conversation going on in their midst.

"I'm not."

"I will not have you working here," he interrupted her with.

Belle glared at him for a moment. "Granny," she finally called out. "I need to take a short break."

The older woman eyed her, clearly nervous. "If you need anything…"

"We'll just be outside," Belle pointed out and reached out to grab Gold's forearm. She tugged lightly and he had no choice but to go with her or risk falling over. The cane was some support, but she had just pulled him slightly off center. And so he followed, looking upset, even angry.

When they got to a more private area, Belle turned on him. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

He shrugged, one elegant move of his shoulders. He was dressed well this night, perfectly pressed suit that fit his trim form far better than Belle would have liked to admit. "You can't work here."

"I damn well can. It's _my_ life. No one controls it but me." She raised her hand to jab a finger in his chest before deciding against that and backing away from him slightly. "Not you, not my father, _no one_."

"What if I don't want you to work here?" His voice had softened just slightly.

"No dice," she responded with.

"Why?"

"Again, my life."

He shook his head and she could _see_ him becoming increasingly frustrated with her. "But why?"

"You already know I need the money…"

"I don’t pay you enough?" He sounded incredulous. And annoyed. Very very annoyed. “What more could you possibly need?”

"This is about my _father_ , in case you’ve conveniently forgotten that. Nearly every cent I make goes to his care. If I work here…"

"You don't have to pay for a room," he surmised.

"Or food," she added. Granny had a tendency to cook too much and rather than freeze it and call it the _special_ the next day, she simply tossed it into a container for someone to take. Belle had taken advantage of that several times already. When she was too exhausted and in too much pain, a quick meal she could toss in the microwave made her life so much easier.

"I have both," he suddenly said.

"Pardon?" Was he saying what she thought he was saying? It wasn't possible. Someone as private as Gold didn't just up and offer someone space in their home.

"You can live with me."

"No," she said without even thinking about it.

"There's plenty of room in the house for two people. You wouldn't even have to see me…"

"I'm not a charity case," she pointed out.

"I'm not saying you are," he shot back.

"Then?"

"You can do some light cleaning. Maybe dust, vacuum? I'm a bachelor, Miss French. Surely you can understand that I need all the help I can get."

She had been inside his house. She wasn't so sure that was true. His house had been _immaculate_. Frankly, she hadn't expected much else out of him. She started to speak but he interrupted her before she could get a word out.

"Well, despite what you may think, it would be easier for me if you did some of the basics. I don't think the dusting has happened since right before my injury."

"David hasn't been helping out?'

"Oh he has, but he refuses to put on the little maid's dress."

She let out a little snort. "Ok so let me get this straight. I work for you. You pay me. And I get to stay in a room up there for a little light cleaning."

"Exactly."

"What are you getting out of this?" She cocked her head slightly to the side, studied him. "I mean, why do you really want me there?"

He crinkled up his nose a little. "The place is filthy." And she was sure it wasn't that. He _was_ lonely. She was even more certain now than ever that he desperately needed some companionship. But mentioning it to him was out of the question. He'd deny it. She knew that much about him already.

"Alright." She was sure she had taken leave of her senses. _Live_ with the man. She couldn't even imagine how that one was going to go. They clashed wills almost every time they saw each other.

"Excellent. My car is just around back. We can go up now."

Belle shook her head. "Easy there, bucko. I have my _own_ car and it’s late. I'll be up in the morning." Gold watched her a moment longer before nodding and limping off back to his car.

Shaking her head, Belle walked back inside the diner.

"What was _that_ about?" Ruby was on her almost as soon as she got inside.

"It seems I have a new living arrangement." She shook her head.

"With Gold?" At her nod, Ruby shuddered. "What is he, some kind of lecher?"

"I…" She paused there. _Was_ he? She thought of his response to her touching him, the way he froze, dropped his gaze, moved slightly away. "No," she said firmly. "I think he's lonely."

"Oh Belle, don't tell me you're one of _those_."

"One of…"

"You know the type…always sees the good in people, that sort of thing. Gold's a bastard."

Belle laughed. "I know. But this is for my father, Ruby."

"You can still stay here…"

"I'll come down to visit, I promise," she said with a small smile. "But I think this is really my best option."

Ruby gave her an assessing look. "Well, fine. But if you don't come down with some amazing gossip about that bastard, I will be _sorely_ disappointed."

Belle just laughed. “I’ll do my best.” The two went back to work for Belle’s last night at the diner.


	8. Chapter 8

What had he been thinking? He wished he could even figure that one out, but when he saw Belle working at Granny's Diner, something inside him had shifted. He had been annoyed, but also _worried_ about her, and that bothered him far more than he wanted to admit.

He couldn't get her out of his mind.

She was, perhaps, one of the first people that hadn't shied away from him, who challenged him and called him out when he was acting like a bit of a jackass. Ok, maybe more than just a bit. He liked it. He didn't expect that, really. He had been the king of his little castle for longer than he could remember.

When his wife had left him, he had been just a shell of a man. All he could remember was pain, desperation, holing himself up on his farm for months and barely going out unless he absolutely needed to. And that was fairly seldom. A trip to the grocery store every couple weeks, trips to the supply store for things for his sheep and dogs. And the rest of the time alone with far too much time to think.

And now he had someone coming to live with him.

Invading his space.

Sometimes his mouth ran ahead of his brain. Not often, really, but when it came to Belle French it seemed to happen more and more frequently.

When the knock came early that morning, tentative and quiet, he heaved a sigh and made his halting way to the door. It was easier moving with the cane and the walking boot he still had to wear, but it wasn't easy. He wasn't sure it ever _would_ be. The doctor had checked his progress and had seemed happy with it, but he had been told multiple times that he would probably never gain full mobility and would probably need a cane for the rest of his life. At 52. He wasn't old, but he _felt_ old as he hobbled toward the door.

"Miss French," he said by way of greeting.

"Why do you sound surprised to see me?" She raised one eyebrow and he found himself smirking at her.

"The fair maiden approaches the dragon's lair on her own? That never seems to happen in the stories."

"You haven't been reading the right stories," she said with a grin and was she actually _flirting_ with him? Women didn't flirt with him. It simply wasn't done.

"Yes well, that may be so. But I was sure your friend Ruby would have talked you out of this."

"She tried," Belle said and bit her lip and he felt that one go straight to….well…places he'd rather not think about at that moment, thank you very much.

"But you decide your fate."

"Exactly." She leaned to the side and looked past him a bit. "So are you going to let me in?"

"Right, of course. Come in." He waved her through ahead of him and turned to shut the door. She stepped into the living room and set her one suitcase and purse down on the ground there. "Do you need help bringing in the rest?"

"The rest?" She met his eyes, brow slightly furrowed.

"Of your things." He waved a hand toward the door.

She looked down at what she had with her and then gave him a sheepish look. "This is all I have. I couldn't bring much of anything with me when we came here."

"I'm sorry." He didn't even know why he was apologizing. He shouldn't. It wasn't his fault.

She shook her head. "Nothing to be sorry about. Onwards and upwards, I always say. I can always get more stuff."

"You are amazing." The words slipped out before he could stop them and he wished he could take them back. But the little smile that crossed her face at the words at least made him pause, appreciate the moment. "I…um…would you like to see your room?"

She nodded and he escorted her up the stairs. He had chosen a room for her about as far from his as he could get. It was small, but not overly crowded, with a bed easily big enough for two of her. It was a comfortable room, he thought, the walls a soothing blue that almost matched her eyes, the curtains a darker blue. It wasn't intentional, really, but it somehow seemed to fit her perfectly.

When she stepped in and looked around her eyes quickly met and held his. "My room?"

"Did you expect a dungeon?"

She laughed. "I was hoping not. But this is truly lovely." She stepped over, brushed her hand across the dresser.

"I told you the place needed a bit of dusting."

"I see that."

"You can start in here?"

"I can."

He let her set her stuff down before showing her around the rest of the house. He liked watching her as she wandered the rooms. She lightly touched things, spent time studying the artwork on the walls and shared some rather insightful comments.

But she was most enthralled by the old fashioned spinning wheels in his workroom. "Do you use these?"

He watched her for a moment before responding. "I do. All my work uses handspun wool."

"From your sheep," she surmised.

"All of the work, from shearing and carding to spinning and weaving is done right here on the farm." He was proud of that. He knew many had sold out, had the wool carded and spun at factories, before weaving into their rugs. But he still worked the old-fashioned way. He _liked_ working with his hands, liked the meticulousness of carding the wool, like the feeling of working the wheel as he spun it into thread.

"That's impressive." She turned to look at him. "No seriously. I've never known anyone who could do something like that."

"I grew up on a farm," he said softly. "My aunts raised me into this life."

"They spun?"

He pointed at the other smaller spinning wheels in the room. "Those were theirs. Passed down generation to generation in the family."

"They must be…"

"Hundreds of years old, yes."

"And you still have them?"

He didn't use them, not anymore. The wheel he used was larger, more modern, though still at least a hundred years old. He had refurbished it after finding it at an antique store some years ago and he was quite proud of it. It felt _good_ beneath his hands, the wood smooth, the action flawless. He could lose himself in the rhythm and forget everything else.

And forgetting was sometimes important.

"Yes, of course. Spinning is somewhat of an art to my family." He didn't dare tell her that his father had thought it too feminine for his boy, had returned once…just once…to find him showing off at the wheel and had turned away. His father was everything he was not. "Come," he finally said, directing Belle away from the room.

It was private. He didn’t even know why he showed it to her except that he was proud of his work and wanted her to see some of where it was done.

As they exited, Belle put a hand on his arm. "I'd like to watch sometime…if you'd let me." Her voice was soft and he honestly did believe she would enjoy it.

"I might just let you," he said at least and drew her from the room, shutting the door behind them as he led her through the rest of the house on their rather impromptu tour.

* * *

Belle had spent a little while after the tour of the place she was now to call home arranging things in the room he had given her. Truly she didn't know what to expect when he offered his home as a place for her to live in the meantime. Some utilitarian room. Not this lovely quaint room that seemed to really call out to her. She could be comfortable here and though it felt awkward to sleep down the hall from Gold, she thought she might get used to it.

Perhaps a little too quickly, even.

He had been a gentleman, showing her around his house, though it had clearly pained him to do so. There were some rooms locked to her, his room and two others on the second floor, an attic that he told her she had no need to go into as there wasn't much up there. The kitchen was lovely, large and bright and seriously understocked. She swore she would remedy that soon and made a note to talk to Gold about that later that night.

Her room was now arranged to the best of her ability. She had found a duster and some cloths in the hall closet and had tackled the chore with great gusto. She swept the floor with a broom she found in the kitchen. She considered vacuuming the very lovely area rug but couldn't find a vacuum and then began to wonder if there was some sort of special care, if Gold himself had made it. It made the most sense, really, and when she got down on her hands and knees to inspect it found that there was an attention to detail there that left her in awe.

She had no doubt he had made it. She couldn't imagine another rug-maker weaving in such fine threads, especially not the golden ones. A trademark of his, perhaps. She had gone on to look at the other rugs in the house and noticed the same gold threads woven into the patterns. Sometimes the gold was obvious, sometimes it was so subtle she had to really get down and look closely.

He found her like that, hovering over one of the living room rugs. "Well, this isn't a side of you I expected to see," came the acerbic voice from behind her.

She leapt up and smoothed down her skirt. "I hope you didn't see too much."

He just smiled at her, mysterious, and turned away. "And how do you find the accommodations?"

"The bedroom is lovely. But the kitchen could use a little work…" She trailed off. Honesty is the best policy, right?

"It's state of the art," he shot back.

"Oh there's nothing wrong with the appliances. It's just…you have almost _nothing_ in your cupboards." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Just how do you _live_?"

He shrugged. "I'm a bachelor, Miss French. What I eat doesn't matter."

"That would explain why you're so thin." He just gave her a scathing look at that. "Well, at any rate, it matters to _me_."

He narrowed his eyes slightly. "That may be…"

"And if you expect me to cook for you, you're going to need me to buy supplies."

"I never said you had to cook." He sounded sullen and she almost laughed.

"No, I suppose you didn’t. Then I guess I'll get supplies and cook myself. You can live off of…well, whatever it is you want to eat." She turned away, waited.

"Well, if you're going to be _that_ way." With a smile, she turned back and he tossed her a credit card out of his wallet. She wished she could say that she caught it, looking all suave and smug. But the truth was Belle was not the most graceful person and there were reasons she was never in sports.

She scooped it off the floor where it had fallen and tucked it into the pocket of her skirt.

"You're going to be the death of me, aren't you Miss French?" And she noted there was amusement there, not annoyance.

"I'm afraid so."

* * *

Her trip to the grocery store had been entirely successful. Gold had told her to spend whatever she damned well pleased and she _loved_ having the freedom to stock up a kitchen as she saw fit. And she had a lot to buy, from spices to stock to meats and vegetables and pasta. He had a little bit of the latter and she guessed he probably lived on basic spaghetti and similar dishes. But the rest was sorely lacking.

The man was _ridiculous_ if he thought she'd live on such basic food. And she suspected, somewhere deep inside, he didn't want to either. She wondered if he had ever been married. He talked of being a bachelor and she had yet to hear any gossip outside of what a bastard he was. And people were truly willing to discuss _that_. Especially when they realized she was purchasing food using his account.

Oh, the looks she had gotten on that one. And the one person who had implied she must be his whore if she was using his credit card really irked her.

But mostly she was just happy to have a lovely kitchen to cook in and a place to call home, even if it was only for a short while, and even if it came with its very own cantankerous dragon.

She was unpacking all the food she bought when Gold made his way to the kitchen. The thump of his cane and his uneven gait was already becoming familiar to her and so she turned before he even made it to the kitchen and smiled.

"You bought all of this?" He sounded incredulous.

"You literally had _nothing_."

"Do you know what the word literally means?" Now his voice sounded annoyed.

"Ok so you didn't _literally_ have nothing, but you had almost nothing. A few jars of sauce and some pasta hardly counts as food.”

He looked rather sheepish for a moment. “And I suppose you’re some sort of gourmet cook,” he grumbled at her.

“Hardly,” she answered in nearly the same tone. “But I can do a pretty mean macaroni and cheese.” The last was said with a smile and she felt especially pleased when she saw his eyebrows raise and a somewhat satisfied look come across his face.

“Well, I’ll just leave you to it.” And then he disappeared.

“I’ll take that to mean ‘Yes I’d like some Miss French.’” There was answering snort from the other room as he moved away from her.

* * *

Dinner preparations had gone well. Belle really did know what she was doing in the kitchen. She was no gourmet, but she knew her way around skillets and deep fryers and all the other paraphernalia. Her father was an abysmal cook, likely along the lines of Gold. Maybe worse. He was content to open a can of Chef Boyardee and dump it into a microwavable bowl. At least in the hospital he could get nutritious, if not appetizing food. It was bland and entirely uninteresting, but it gave him what he needed and she supposed that was enough, though he didn’t seem to think so. She couldn't keep track of the amount of times her father had begged her for a cheeseburger or fried fish.

Her macaroni and cheese was an old family recipe, stuffed full of béchamel and extra sharp cheddar cheeses. It gave it a little extra bite, as did the addition of plenty of pepper. The topping was made with bread crumbs and slathered with butter to make it crispy. It was bubbling by the time Gold came down and seated himself at his dining room table.

The room was formal, the table far too large for the single occupant and somehow seeing him sitting there, imagining him there night after night alone made her sad. He was a difficult man, but that didn’t make it any less sad. She wondered sometimes if he ever had the Nolans up to dinner. But considering the state of his kitchen? Well, probably not. And considering the state of his temperament, she couldn’t quite imagine his going to them either.

What a sad life. Lonely, isolated. He seemed content to be hated but she wondered if that was how he felt deep down. Perhaps these were more layers she would have to peel away.

Shaking her head, she pulled the dish out of the oven, leaned over to sniff it. Yes, that was the smell she remembered. _Perfection_. If he didn’t like this, he wouldn’t like _anything_ she could offer.

She spooned some onto a plate to let it cool a little and set to cutting up the crusty bread she had purchased to go with it. As she brought things out to the table, Gold simply eyed her, hands crossed sedately in his lap. But his eyes were sharp, watching every move she made.

“Chardonnay?” he said to the glass she brought out to him.

“Of course. It seemed to be a good wine to pair with the dish.”

He shook his head. “Sometimes I don’t quite know what to think of you.”

“Good,” she responded with and then practically danced out of the room. Coming from Gold, she suspected that was quite the compliment.

When she came back out with the dish of macaroni and cheese and the bread, he raised one eyebrow at her. “Are you trying to poison me?”

“What?” She looked down at the dish. There was nothing untoward about it. It looked quite appetizing and in fact, she planned to partake of it herself once he was served.

“One dish?” He waved a hand at the meal in front of him.

_Oh God, he’s one of_ those _sorts_. She had had an uncle like that. Nothing on the plate must be touching. Everything in its own corner or on its own plate. “I can get you another plate for the bread.”

“That’s _not_ what I meant,” he said drily. At her obviously confused look he continued. “You’re not joining me?”

“Oh,” she said and thought she must sound awfully stupid. “I didn’t think you’d want me to.”

“Well, you’re living here now. I might as well get used to having you around.” His voice was still dry and she wasn’t sure if there was sarcasm there or some sort of version of honesty.

“Mr. Gold,” she said with a bit of a laugh. “That’s not exactly the best invitation to a date, now is it?”

“Is this a date?”

His voice had turned serious. The _conversation_ had turned serious and Belle wasn’t sure how to respond. “I…um…”

“I jest, Miss French,” he finally said, relieving some of the tension, though the butterflies were still taking to flight. “Please do join me if you wish. You are under no obligation.”

She took a deep breath. “I’d like that.”

Dinner after that went far easier than she expected. He complimented her on the meal and she expressed her worry that she didn’t offer up a dessert to go with it. He waved that off and took a second helping of macaroni and cheese. If he started to eat like this every night, he’d probably put on a few pounds. He needed to, really. She had never taken notice of how sharp his cheekbones were and without the extra padding of the heavy sweaters he favored, he looked all sharp edges. A little comfort food might do him some good.

She'd make dessert next time.

The conversation flowed easier than she expected too. He wasn't forthcoming about his life before or outside of the farm, but she hadn't really expected him to be. Instead, he spoke at length about his dogs, about past dogs, about the champions and the ones who had needed a lot of work.

She found out that at one point he had been competitive in sheepherding trials. She had never even heard of such things, but apparently shepherds had been competing against each other to see who had the best dog since the middle of the 19th century. Gold had gone into a long history of sheepherding trials that left her eyes crossing a little bit. Halfway through it he suddenly stopped.

"I'm boring you." It was a statement, not a question.

"No," she said quickly. "I'm just tired." She stood. "And I really should clean up."

He stood with her, leaning heavily on his cane. "You cooked." He waved her toward the living room. "I should clean up." She eyed his cane and it seemed he knew exactly what she was thinking. "I'm not an invalid."

"I never said you were," she answered with a sigh. "How about I wash, you dry?"

He nodded and together they attacked the dishes. They made quite a pair really, and Belle was appreciative of how comfortable they were in that moment. He seemed to have relaxed, perhaps the wine and good food making him truly relaxed for the first time. She hummed as she washed and he just glanced at her once in awhile, an indulgent smirk on his face.

When the dishes were put away and everything set to rights, Belle returned to find him still standing at the sink staring at the water as it disappeared down the drain. "Everything ok?"

"Yeah." He looked at her out of the corner of his eyes.

"I…" she started to say. "Um…I should go get ready for bed." It was early yet, but living on a sheep farm meant early mornings.

"We should do this again," he whispered.

"We should," she responded with. And she was surprised by how much she meant it. She had actually _enjoyed_ his company that night. He had still been his usual acerbic, sarcastic self, but with a softer edge. One she knew she could get used to.

Without putting any thought into it, because _thinking_ would stop her from doing it, she placed her hand on his shoulder and leaned closer to him. She hesitated for a moment before closing the distance and placing a soft kiss on his cheek. "Goodnight, Mr. Gold."

And then she disappeared up the stairs, not even turning around to look at him. She didn't want to see his reaction, not this time at least.


	9. Chapter 9

Things settled down on the farm and Gold found himself getting increasingly used to Belle French’s presence in his life. She had taken over the house, quite without his intending for it to happen. The kitchen was now her domain and in the couple weeks since she had settled in, he had happily allowed her to make his meals. He was sure he’d gained a couple pounds but he hadn’t owned a scale since his wife had left him. It was one thing he had been happy to see go. And Belle had not asked about such a thing. Not that he would buy one for her if she _did_ ask.

He was thankful she had not, really. His wife had been a shallow woman, spending time staring in the mirror, worrying about the lines near her eyes, contemplating Botox and plastic surgery and how to look younger than her years. Belle was younger than his ex, probably by a good fifteen years or more, but at around 30 she was long past the age when his ex-wife began lamenting about her wrinkles and grey hairs.

Belle seemed fairly natural and he had been surprised to see her tromping around the house wearing baggy pajamas that she had stolen from his drawers and her hair sticking out on end. After she showed up for her “interview” wearing a short skirt and high heels, he really hadn’t expected her to be quite so laidback about things.

And he liked it, if he had to be honest. He was meticulous about his appearance, to be sure, but it allowed him to at least relax _a little_ when she was there. Even if he did grouse a bit about the stolen pajamas. _They're more comfortable than mine_ , was all she'd say and then go on her merry way. As if she weren't raiding his closets, as if he would just accept it as a normal part of his life.

He wasn’t used to sharing his home with anyone, after all. He hadn’t in some ten years except for the couple weeks in the summer that his son came to visit. Having someone there was disconcerting to say the least and her being so easy and relaxed about it all made it at least somewhat easier for him. Not that they didn't argue. Belle challenged him in ways no one else would dare. And he _allowed_ it, which was not something he expected or even understood.

They had fallen into a routine over the weeks since she had come to live there. He woke to the smell of Belle throwing together breakfast. _Breakfast_. He was used to having some cold cereal and his tea. Belle believed in a good hearty breakfast, especially if she was going to be out in the barn working all morning. Lunch was something simple, but always homemade. Cold meat left over from the night before, a bit of bread, some cheese.

And then it was back outside to do some training with Bandit. The dog was coming along nicely, rather more so than he ever would have thought. He didn’t tell her, not in so many words, but Belle was a natural with the dogs. The fact that Taz had gone right to her said a lot right from the start, but Bandit had also taken to her easily. They weren’t quite a _team_ yet, but they were on their way to it. They had gone from starting the dog's interest in sheep to working on the basic commands. Lie down, walk up, get back, easy. He ran Belle through the commands every morning. She had to know them without thinking about them.

A handler that is confused makes it even harder for the dog. They would trip over each other and create chaos among the herd.

Gold laid out a circle on the table in front of them. "Now the dog is _here_ , Miss French," he said, pointing to a spot that put them at around the eleven o'clock mark. "If you want them to come toward you, is it 'away' or 'come by'?"

"Anti-clockwise. Away to me." She sounded almost excited. She knew she had it right.

"Yes. Exactly." She was almost never wrong and soon she would be ready for more.

He was loath to admit it, even to himself, but he enjoyed their afternoon training sessions. It had become a ritual of sorts, something to keep his mind off the cane and his need for help. He was getting around easier and the physical therapy was down to just twice a week. Every Monday and Thursday, David Nolan would arrive at the house promptly at 8:30am, far too cheerful as always, pick him up to bring him to that damned hospital to have his ankle poked and prodded, forced to bear weight on it. It was so damned painful and left him feeling so weak that he wasn't even allowed to drive himself. He couldn't wait to see the tail end of _that_ one, though he suspected that even when he was done with it, he still wouldn't have regained all he'd lost.

He'd probably always need help.

Which meant that once Miss French left, and leave she would certainly do, he would have to hire someone else to take her place.

He dreaded that day. He was fairly certain she wasn't replaceable at all.

And frankly that thought quite perplexed him.

* * *

It was the beginning of her fourth week living with Gold when he told her it was time to get back out with the sheep again. She had been working individually with Bandit. Leaning the commands, teaching the commands. She couldn't have imagined just _how much_ was involved in this sort of training. The dog certainly had instincts. She clearly wanted to drive the sheep, she had good balance according to Gold and though she was still a bit unruly, she had the makings of a fine sheepdog.

Not that Belle could tell a good one from a not so good one.

But she trusted Gold.

And that was a strange thing right there. She had come there simply to work and get out as soon as she could each day. Instead she found herself spending her mornings and evenings with Gold, discovered he was not the bad company he seemed to think he was.

That afternoon, the sun had come out and temperatures had finally climbed above 40. She hadn't been sure it would _ever_ get there, so far up in the frigid north, but Gold had just laughed and assured her they _did_ have a summer in Maine, despite what the locals may say.

When they met up out in the field, Gold had already had Taz separate five sheep from the group. They were milling about in the pen, just waiting for something to happen. Belle walked quickly to him with Bandit, who now seemed to be fairly attached to her, at her side. The dog, who had grown into her beautiful black and white coat, had truly become Belle's dog. Gold told her that the dogs were generally one-person dogs, working closely with their shepherd. A dog who did not bond to the shepherd or a dog who loved everyone was a liability.

Bandit certainly had bonded with Belle. Gold had been quick to note that. The dog had taken an instant like to her. Taz, his best working dog, had as well, much to his annoyance. But Bandit's bond had gone deeper. Recently, she became only the second dog to be allowed to sleep in the house, taking up residence in Belle's room and sticking close by her side.

"Are you ready for this?" Gold asked as she approached the pen with an increasingly alert Bandit. Introducing her to sheep and beginning formal lessons had given the focus to the young dog that she had been lacking.

"I think so. What are we doing?"

"Today we work on outruns." He opened the gate to the pen and waved her inside. He followed right behind her, Taz staying on the outside like he somehow _knew_ his presence was not needed.

"Sending the dog out to gather the sheep?"

He nodded. "Exactly. I knew you could learn this stuff, Miss French."

"Aren't you _ever_ going to call me Belle?"

He gave her a blank look. "The goal, _Miss French_ …" She rolled her eyes at that. "Is to get the dog around the sheep and have them make the 'lift' gently and easily. If the dog comes in too close, the sheep can take off fast and in the wrong direction."

"Right. Pear-shaped." She remembered his drilling that into her, remembered watching Taz's outruns. He would shoot up at a diagonal to the sheep and then go out and around, coming in quietly and without any big fanfare behind them.

She was starting much the same, but without the great distance.

"Exactly. Now step here." He tapped his cane on the ground and when she stepped to the spot, backed off slightly. "Away to me or Come bye?" Belle glanced at the sheep. It didn't matter, really. It was a small pen.

"Away to me," she answered.

"Good. Get Bandit on your right side. When you release her you're going to have to _show_ her where she's going. Raise your stick, point it in the direction you want and release her with the proper command. Don't think of it as left or right. It's anti-clockwise, nothing more."

She did as he said. "Away to me," she said, quiet, firm, and used her stick to point to her right, to the anti-clockwise direction. Bandit leapt back but went nowhere else.

"Again."

She did it again.

In fact, she did it _four_ more times before Bandit took off racing in the correct direction. She didn't stop at the other end to make the leap, she kept going, flying past the sheep and upsetting them.

"Lie down." Gold growled and the way he said the words caused even Belle to jump. "You have to tell her to lie down. How the hell else is she going to understand her position?"

"Right," Belle responded with. "That'll do." She remembered that command at least and Bandit returned to her quickly. She brought her back to her right side and attempted another outrun command.

It only took two times this time and finally Bandit was running out and around the sheep. "Lie down!" Belle called at the right moment, just before the dog started to move the sheep. And Bandit did as she asked.

"Good." Gold responded with. "Now we just need to get her to move a little further out from the sheep. Did you see how close she cut to them?" The sheep he was using were dog savvy. They didn't move. Other sheep might have moved and truly skittish ones might have panicked and fled, causing complete chaos if they weren't in a solidly fenced in area.

He stepped up and showed her how to use her body and voice to get the dog to go out further.

Belle released Bandit from work once more, called her back, and set her up again. This time she watched and could see the moment Bandit started to turn too tight to the sheep. She stepped forward, used her stick, but was a little too late.

The next time she could anticipate it and got out there before Bandit started to close in. Her stick and command of "Get out" pushed her out and away from the sheep. Her command of "lie down" got the dog to stop in the right spot.

"Excellent," Gold said and she was sure that was the best compliment she had ever gotten from him. When he met her eyes, she realized there was some sort of pride there. "We might just make a shepherd of you yet."

"Thank you." This wasn't quite what she had in mind when she took on the job with him, but she found she couldn't complain. He was a difficult task master, a difficult man to get to know, but when he was out with the sheep and the dogs, he seemed an entirely different person all together. There was a quiet confidence to him and he was clearly in his element. Belle found she very much enjoyed seeing that side of him.

"Release her," he pointed out and Belle turned to glance back at Bandit, who was still watching the sheep with a focused eye.

"That'll do," Belle said and immediately the dog was at her side. Faster than she'd seen her run to Gold. It was pretty impressive the speed the dog had when she needed it.

He had her practice a few more short outruns, sometimes clockwise, sometimes the opposite and then had her release the dog for a final time.

"Short sessions," Gold said as Belle released the sheep from the pen to rejoin the herd and she and Gold made their slow way back to the house.

"I thought these dogs were supposed to have great stamina."

Gold looked at her out of the corner of his eye and smirked. "Doing research, have you?"

"I have degrees in library science. What did you expect?" Research was her life. Spending time in a library or even online in virtual stacks, made her feel alive. Maybe that was strange and it was probably especially strange to someone like Gold, whose entire life revolved around the physical…sheep, dogs, spinning, wool. But it was _her_ and when she had a chance to do a bit of reading on sheepdogs and herding, she jumped at the chance. She already had several websites full of videos and instructions bookmarked on her laptop.

"I didn't know that."

"Didn't you read my resume?" She turned to look at him with wide, innocent eyes. At Gold's scoffing noise, Belle grinned. "That _is_ why you hired me, isn't it?"

"Oh yes," he responded with. "There's a great demand for librarians on sheep farms. Hadn't you heard? They're all the rage these days."

She laughed and reached over to link arms with him before realizing just what exactly she was doing. Withdrawing, she stepped a little bit further away from Gold and they finished the rest of the walk in silence.

When they arrived and stepped into the house, Gold gave her a somewhat odd look. "Dinner tonight?"

"Of course." It was a dismissal. She knew it for what it was and didn't question it. He was a private man, that much she knew, and often withdrew to his study or another room after their afternoon training sessions. She was left to her own devices then. Sometimes she went into town to see Ruby and Ariel. Both were becoming fast friends and Belle was thankful for that, even if neither understood why exactly she continued to work for the "monstrous" Gold.

If it was one of her father's good days, she went to visit him at the hospital. He had many days that _weren't_ good, doped up on heavy painkillers and asleep for much of the day. He was a kind old soul, had raised her after her mother died. He did his best by her, though even her father would admit that he wasn't the ideal parent. But she loved him. Loved him dearly. He was all she had left in the world, so far away from her home country. But he was failing. And quickly.

She wasn't ready to lose him, but the cancer was eating at him little by little. Chemotherapy and radiation could only beat it back so long and he was losing that battle. She knew his life was measured in months, maybe even weeks. And so she visited as often and for as long as he could handle. Some days she dropped in only to give him a kiss on the cheek, others she spent time playing Scrabble and Yahtzee with him.

They were sad days and yet joyful at the same time. She had quiet moments to cherish, seeing her father's face light up when she told him she had a job and was making good money and would be able to support herself was worth everything in the world. It was worth dealing with Gold's sarcasm, worth dealing with the occasional temper tantrum. And he had a fair amount of those. Gold was usually highly controlled in his actions, but after he got back from a physical therapy appointment he was like an angry cat, shouting at anything in his way and holing himself up in his room where he couldn't be bothered.

She hadn't told her father she was living with her employer. She didn't dare. She wanted these last weeks, last months to be good ones for her father and she didn't want him to fret about her living situation. He didn't know Gold, of course, and he didn't know his reputation. But he would find out soon enough if he spoke of it to the nurses.

And so she kept such worrisome things from her father. Sometimes it was just easier that way.

* * *

Seven pounds, three ounces. David Nolan still couldn't quite believe it. He had a _daughter_. His wife had given birth early that morning after a long drawn-out labor. It hadn't been a particularly hard birth, they told him, but it was her first and the first was usually the longest labor. But it was worth it…so very worth it. Seeing her hold their infant daughter, getting to cradle her fragile little body in his own arms. It was worth every single bit of it.

Mary Margaret had been admitted for the night, common practice they told him. If all went well, she could go home tomorrow and suddenly his life would be something entirely different than it had been. But that night he was on his own. Visiting hours ended at 8:00pm and the nurses had asked the new father to head home for the night.

And he _would_ head home. He promised Mary Margaret he would get a good night of sleep. But he wasn't ready to go home just yet to his quiet and lonely house with the new cradle all assembled, the room painted in yellows and greens, the house that would be not just his and Mary Margaret's, but a _family's_. First he had a stop off to make. Gold's.

It wasn't that he and Gold were really friends, but in many ways he was the closest he had to one. They were fairly isolated in the hills as they were and despite everything, Gold had been there for he and Mary Margaret. Through everything they'd ever been through, the cantankerous older man had somehow managed to support them. If that didn't make them friends, he wasn't sure what _did_ really.

The lights were on at Gold's when he pulled up in front of the house at about half past eight. Gold was often a bit of a night owl, which was unusual among shepherds, who tended to be up before dawn to tend to their flock. And it wasn't that Gold didn't get up early. He did. But somehow he managed late nights _and_ early mornings. He didn’t know how he did it.

He knocked and worried that the other man might find it taxing to get all the way to the door to let him in. He _knew_ how cranky that made Gold. He was just about to open the door and duck his head in when it flew open.

"Belle!" David exclaimed.

"David," Belle responded with and he was struck by the warmth of her voice. "Is everything ok?"

He just blinked. "What are you doing here?"

"I was just going to ask you the same thing," Belle said and he was sure he heard a sardonic twist to the words. Had she been spending too much time with Gold? He didn't even want to _begin_ to contemplate why the young woman was at the man's house this late at night.

"I…" he started to say but the words caught in his throat.

"I live here," Belle finally said in answer to his question and he almost choked. "In my _own_ room. David, what is going on?" She sounded like she was scolding him with the last.

"I'm sorry." He ran his fingers through his hair and pulled out the two cigars he had tucked into the pocket of his shirt. "I guess I should have brought three of these then."

Belle stared at them for a moment before he saw understanding dawn. "Oh David." She stepped forward and embraced him quickly. "Congratulations!" She stepped back from the hug. "Boy or girl?"

"Girl," he responded. "Emma Renee."

"That's a lovely name."

"I'd hate to break up this little chat, but is there a reason you're here so late, Mr. Nolan?" Gold's acerbic voice came from somewhere behind Belle and David watched her jump and turn to face him.

He held up the two cigars and it took only a moment for it to register. Gold's whole face softened and it was an unexpected sight, not something many would ever get to see.

"Congratulations," he said and his voice had lost all of the edge it had a moment before. "The birth of your first child…well…it's something special." He held his hand to his heart. "Truly."

"Thanks. So um…"

Gold eyed the cigars and reached out, took one in his hand. "Nice choice."

"You know cigars?"

He shrugged. "I don't smoke them, if that's what you mean. But I know the good ones."

David just shook his head. Gold often seemed to know _everything_. He supposed when one holed themselves up their house as often as Gold did, it meant a lot of time to read up on anything that interested him. David wasn't much of a reader. He was a doer and in his spare time, which was likely to be about _none_ starting the next day, he watched a bit of television.

He wasn't even sure Gold _owned_ a television.

"So do you want to…"

"Not inside," Gold said quickly. "I don't expose the dogs to such things." David found his eyebrows raise at that. Taz was, of course, near Gold. He was always near Gold. But what was amazing was that the dog got up once in awhile and weaved between Gold and Belle, before settling down at Gold's side. Behind Belle, settled into a slight crouch was a second dog. He recognized it, the distinctive mask around the dog's eyes one he had seen before amongst Gold's dogs. But the dog was in the _house_? It was the first time he had ever seen a dog besides Taz in Gold's house. He wasn't quite sure what to make of that. He wasn't quite sure what to make of _any_ of this, frankly.

"I'll just leave you two to it then," Belle said and started to bow out of the conversation.

"Not at all, dear," Gold said. "Please do join us." He waved her ahead of him and as she nodded and stepped past them, David watched Gold watching _her_. The man's eyes followed her the entire time and if it weren't Gold who was doing the watching, he was sure that the look would be described as one part longing and one part lust. The latter he could understand from a purely aesthetic viewpoint, but this was _Gold_ he was talking about. He had never seen the man so much as glance at a woman. Or a man for that matter. He had been fairly certain there was no attraction to any gender on Gold's part.

But he was fairly certain now.

Gold was attracted to her.

And that could mean very bad things for Belle, living with the man as she was now.

But then they approached the enclosed porch and he watched Belle open the door for Gold and allow him to enter first and damned if she didn't seem to have the same look Gold had on her face. A slight smile, eyes that lingered just a little bit too long. There was something both familiar and strange there.

With a quick shake of his head, he followed them onto the porch and sunk into one of the chairs there. This was definitely going to be an odd evening.

And probably a damned uncomfortable one too.

He'd have to remember to tell Mary Margaret about it when he returned to the hospital the next day.


	10. Chapter 10

She had run out of hay. She knew it was coming but that didn't make it any easier, really. When she had informed Gold the other day about the lack, he pointed her to the hayloft. She had noticed it before. Of course she had. But she didn't really think that _she_ would have to take things down from there. She assumed he could call on David Nolan or someone who was significantly taller than her own measly five foot two. But no. It was part of her duties and he had given her a rather annoying smirk and asked if she was sure she was cut out for this job after all.

_Of course I am_ , she had said with a huff and it was left there.

And now the day had come.

_Bloody hell_.

There was a ladder off to the side and she was sure she could climb up and toss a few bails down. It couldn't be _that_ hard after all, right? She was small, but she was sturdy and all the work of the last weeks had made her the strongest she had ever been.

Not that that was really saying all that much.

So that day she got up a little earlier and headed out to the barn to get down some fresh hay. The ladder fit snugly against the lip of the loft and Belle managed to get about halfway up before she realized that she'd have to climb _into_ the loft and toss the bails down.

Which meant somehow getting back down the ladder.

Which mean hanging a bit over the edge with her feet dangling in the air.

Belle wasn't scared of much, but heights, or more specifically the height she could _fall_ from, certainly did frighten her a bit.

There had to be a better way.

Climbing back down, Belle shoved the ladder over another five feet, close to the hay. If she could get up toward the top, she could lean over a little bit and yank the nearest bale off the edge of the loft and onto the ground. It wouldn't be the most elegant solution, but who was there to watch, really?

It shouldn't have been difficult, but somehow it was far harder than she imagined. She tugged on the nearest bail once, twice. The damned thing slid forward only a few inches.

_Well, damn_. Her father always told her she was stubborn and this time was no different. She _would_ get that bale down, come hell or high water. She tugged again and it slid forward about a foot. She almost squealed with delight as she felt it shift, but started to lose her balance and grabbed at the ladder to keep from falling. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the bale again, catching hold of the twine tying it together and tugging hard. It didn't budge.

"What _are_ you doing?" came the voice from down below her and Belle grabbed onto the ladder again.

"Getting bales of hay," she said and her tone of voice clearly implied it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Like that?"

"Yes, like _that_." She yanked again. The bale didn't budge. She looked back down at Gold. "You didn’t nail these things down, did you?"

He made a scoffing noise. "Of course not. Why would I do that?"

"Why indeed?" She could hear him shift around beneath her, could see him come to stand close to the ladder as she tugged again.

On the third time the bale suddenly moved but she was so off balance as it came loose that she felt the world tilt strangely. She let go of the bale and tried to grab for the ladder, another bale of hay, anything.

Her hand met air, grasping uselessly.

She heard the bale hit the ground just moments before she completely lost her balance. She didn't even have time to let out a scream before she was flying through the air, her heart plunging to somewhere in the midst of her stomach. She could almost hear the crunch of her bones as she hit the ground.

But that didn't happen.

Instead, she hit something soft.

Something that let out an _oof_ as the air left his lungs and strong arms came around her. For a moment she hung there, turned to look at Gold's face. For it _was_ Gold who had caught her. Saw the stunned look there as he realized he was holding her.

And then he collapsed beneath the extra weight, his ankle caving beneath him as the two of them crashed to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs and pain.

"Mr. Gold!" Belle shouted and rolled off of him. He lay there, unmoving for the moment. "Mr. Gold, are you ok?" She knew he wasn't though. She could see the lines of pain around his mouth and eyes, could see the way he was laying somewhat awkwardly.

"Call 911."

"Oh God," Belle whispered. "I'm so sorry. I should never have done that. I don't know what I was thinking…"

"Call. 911” He forced the words out through clenched teeth.

"Your ankle," she murmured. "Where is your phone?"

"Pocket," he said and his voice was getting weaker with the pain.

"Oh God," she murmured again. Stick her hand _in his pocket_. What had this world come to? She leaned over and felt both pockets, trying not to be overly aware that her hand was so close to…well… _there_. She found it in his right pocket and quickly plunged her hand in to get the phone. "I will never ever do that again. I swear to God."

"Good," Gold murmured and she could _almost_ hear a bit of humor beneath the pain.

The 911 operator picked up at the end of the first ring and Belle quickly relayed all that had happened. Well, not all. They didn't need to know that she had caused this, that _she_ had been the one to set back all the progress he had made.

He would kill her for this.

"They'll be here soon," Belle murmured, watching as Gold’s eyes fluttered shut. She reached out a hand, touched him lightly on the shoulder. "Stay with me, ok?"

He nodded. "I'll be fine."

"Is there anything I can do? I'm afraid to move you." The ankle seemed to have at least straightened itself out after the fall, but she could still remember the _sound_ he made as he hit the ground with her on top of him.

"No…nothing."

She reached out and took his hand and was surprised when he didn't pull away, his long fingers wrapping around hers.

They were still there on the ground of the barn when the ambulance showed up. She could hear the sirens and so squeezed his hand once and left the barn to find them.

She also found a rather worried looking David right behind them. "I saw the ambulance. What's going on, Belle?"

"Gold fell."

"Is he ok?"

Belle almost rolled her eyes at that, but stopped herself in time. David was a good man, he meant well, but some things were rather obvious. "No."

"Right. Dammit." The paramedics were in the barn and soon were bringing Gold out on a stretcher.

"Are you coming Ma'am?" one of the paramedics said and Belle turned to David, eyes wide.

"Go with him." David said, reaching out to pat her rather awkwardly on the back. "I'll meet you at the hospital.”

Belle nodded and climbed into the ambulance. She was surprised to see Gold reaching for her and took his hand in hers again. He was in pain. It was the only explanation for why he seemed to be seeking comfort from her.

As the ambulance took off, she watched the man who had caught her as she fell. He had probably saved her life. And she had no idea what to do about that.

* * *

It was a repeat of his time in the hospital some few months ago. He first became aware of the pain, then a beeping noise, and finally managed to crack his eyes open. The room was dim, likely night time outside and though he had been left to sleep, he knew they’d come soon to poke and prod at him, take his blood pressure, ask him questions.

As if he had some sort of heart attack and not a bloody disastrous fall with another human being on top of him. A human being who had opted to do something stupid and dangerous and had nearly gotten herself killed.

He had stepped under her without even thinking about it. He had just moved and reached up, as if he were stronger, as if he weren’t already injured, as if he could simply pluck her out of the air and save the damsel from the distress of her own making. And for one brief shining moment he thought he had succeeded. And then his ankle had collapsed underneath them and they had gone tumbling to the ground.

Belle was ok.

He supposed that was what counted, really.

And he didn’t know why that was quite so important to him. In his pain and drug-induced haze he couldn’t stop thinking about the moment she was in his arms. Safe. Unhurt. Before all hell broke loose.

He wanted to stop thinking about it, but his addled brain kept replaying the moment when he felt her, soft and warm, cradled close to him.

Replayed it, as if he was holding a lover and not the clumsy woman who had somehow taken over his house and damned near his life as well.

A shuffling noise from somewhere in the room made him turn his head. "Mr. Nolan."

David rose from where he'd been sitting and came to stand over his bed. It was a familiar position for him, remembered from the first time he'd been in the hospital, prone in a bed just as he was now. David shook his head as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Just what _were_ you thinking old man?"

Gold snorted. "Apparently I tried to play Prince Charming. Where _is_ Belle, anyway?" He hoped she was back at the house, but he had vague memories of her being in the ambulance before he had blacked out from the pain and whatever medication they had pumped into his system.

"She's at the cafeteria. I told her I'd stay with you while she got something to eat."

"She's ok?" The words slipped out before he could stop them.

"You're concerned about her." He hated the way David sounded so bloody sure of himself.

"Of course not."

David just smirked. The bastard. "She's fine. You broke her fall."

Gold glanced down and grimaced at his foot. "I'm back on crutches again, aren't I?"

"It appears so."

He groaned. "What was I thinking, indeed?" He suspected it would take a long time to figure _that_ one out. Such a thing was not his normal reaction. He worried about himself. And his dogs. He didn't worry about anyone else. If David had fallen, he was pretty sure he'd have stepped back and hoped the man didn't break too many bones. But no, for the first time in his life he had to play the gallant. And he would pay rather dearly for it.

"Mr. Gold." The nurse who stepped into the room was tall, thin, her face severe. "It seems our knight in shining armor has awakened." There was a sort of sarcasm there that he found rather unpleasant.

He glanced over at David. "This is going to ruin my reputation," he groused.

David just smiled as the nurse took his blood pressure, checked his temperature. "How are you feeling Mr. Gold?" she asked as she reached around his wrist and felt for his pulse.

"Like a hundred pounds fell off a hayloft and flattened me," he answered drily.

"More like a 115 pounds." He turned his head to see Belle enter the room. She looked sunny, bright, not a hair out of place and clearly no injuries. She wasn't limping, no limbs in a cast.

"I see you're healthy and hale," Gold said with a slight grimace. In some ways, he was pleased. He couldn't deny that. After all, what use was injuring himself if she too was injured?

"Thanks to you," Belle responded with and he was surprised when she came to his side again and reached out to touch his hand. He couldn't move away. But he wasn't even sure he wanted to. And frankly, that left an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Yes…well…" He reached over with his other hand and patted hers a couple times. "It was no matter."

Belle leaned over him and for a moment all he could see were her far too blue eyes. "But it _was_." Her voice was adamant.

David cleared his throat and she moved back and away from him and he didn't quite like the way he suddenly felt that loss keenly. He had no idea what they had him looped up on this time, but it must have been pretty heavy duty stuff. He felt like he was floating and while he could feel the pain in his ankle, especially if he tried to move it at all, he also felt…good?

Damned pain meds.

He waved Belle off. "You should go home."

She smiled at him. "I will soon. I just wanted to make sure you were ok."

"The dogs will need their dinner."

She shook her head. "Of course."

"And Taz," he murmured. He could feel the darkness creeping in around the edges of his vision. Morphine. They had probably given him some version of morphine to dull the pain.

"I'll make sure he's taken care of."

The world went black a moment later.

* * *

"He cares about you, you know.” He didn’t take his eyes off the road as he spoke the words.

Belle turned to look at David, eyes wide. "No. I don't quite think he does."

"He saved you…"

She shook her head. "Anyone would have done that."

David glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and then back to the road. "You really think that?"

"I do." People were good…somewhere deep down inside. She believed that. Truly. If she didn’t then what was left to her? Cynicism and anger? Pessimism? She just couldn't live her life like that. She saw the good in people, whether they wanted her to or not.

She had even seen the good in Gold. His love for his dogs was worn on his sleeves. Even his love for his sheep was. Oh, he didn’t have the complete adoration for the sheep as he did the dogs, but he definitely cared for them. There was a good core somewhere deep down inside the man.

"You know Belle, when I first brought you to Gold I did it more out of pity for the two of you. You seemed so desperate for a job. He needed help more than he would admit. I was sure that he would take one look at you and send you on your way…"

"And he did," she interrupted him with.

"But you won him over." She could hear the slight upward turn of his voice at the end of the sentence. He didn't know. Gold had never told him.

"Taz," she answered the unspoken question with.

"His dog?"

Belle nodded, knowing that David couldn't see her. "He came right up to me and put his head in my lap. Taz, not Gold," she added with a smirk.

"That ornery old dog?" David sounded surprised. "He doesn't like anyone." A pause. "Truth be told, I don't think _Gold_ likes anyone either."

"I dare say you're right about that." But she had been around him long enough, lived at the house long enough now that she was sure he was coming to be at least a _little_ bit fond of her.

David pulled up in front of Gold's house and stopped. Belle hopped out lightly, grabbing the key that she had stuffed in her pocket before leaving the hospital.

"Belle," David suddenly said, leaning out the window. His face was serious and that was unusual for a man who she usually considered to be pretty jovial. He always had a smile, even when Gold was tossing some insult or another his way. "Just…I've never seen Gold take to someone like he has you. And…" He paused there and that left her feeling a little on edge, a little uncomfortable. "Don't break his heart."

"I…" She stopped. What could she say to that? "Of course not," she finally managed and disappeared inside the house. A moment later she heard David pull out of the driveway and she was blessedly alone.

Well, alone except for the presence of the dogs, who had crept out of the shadows when she arrived home. "Come on. Let's see about getting you some dinner."

It took little to feed the dogs. Some high quality kibble, mixed with a bit of meat that she had cooked up the night before. They ate well, each one to their exact specifications depending on how much they were working. Gold had it down to a science and she was learning it well.

Except for Taz and Bandit, the other dogs ate in their kennel. She fed them quickly, coming close to taking pity on the dogs and bringing them all into the house. But she refrained. Gold had finally relented on allowing Bandit in, but she was sure the others would be a most unwelcome presence. And so she left the others to their meals in the kennel and the two dogs allowed in the house gobbled down their meals and then retreated to the living room. Taz took his place closest to Gold's recliner and Bandit hopped up on the couch.

She knew she shouldn't be there, but she didn't quite have the heart to tell her to get off. So instead she washed up the dishes and set the kitchen to rights.

It was easier for her to keep moving, but once the chores were done and Belle could think of nothing else to do, she slumped down on the couch with Bandit. Taz crept closer and the three of them stayed there in silence for a time.

Gold had _saved_ her. He had acted like it was no big deal, but _she_ knew. She had passed the place it had happened on her way out to feed the dogs and could see just how far the fall had been, a good fifteen feet or so. If Gold hadn't stepped underneath her, she would have broken something and perhaps something even more serious than an arm or a leg.

She could have come down on her head.

She could have been killed.

But the man had stepped up and _caught_ her and it was an impressive feat for any man, much less one who was still wearing a walking boot and sporting a rather severe injury. He had done it without thinking.

David thought he cared about her.

A day ago she would have said she was nothing more than an annoyance. Or maybe someone Gold thought had a bit of potential and so decided to take under his wing. Certainly nothing more than an unwanted protégé.

But now? Now she wasn't so sure.

Perhaps even _worse_ , she didn't know how _she_ felt about it all. He was sarcastic, cranky, sometimes a downright bastard. But somewhere, somewhere _deep_ down inside, she had caught a glimpse of something more. Those moments when he had held her in his arms, she had felt safe and protected. Her eyes had met his and they had been wide, unfocused, the pupils large.

She had felt a pull toward him, had wanted to wrap her arms around him. Her eyes had only just been straying to his lips, when they had taken their tumble to the hard ground of the barn.

And that, perhaps, worried her more than anything else at the moment. With a groan, Belle got ready for bed. She'd have plenty of time to think about this in the morning.


	11. Chapter 11

All told, Gold spent three days in the hospital recuperating from the fall they had taken. Well, _he_ had taken, really. Belle had felt a little banged up the next day, a little sore if she turned her body to the left too fast. But a good soak in the tub and a little work in the barn to loosen up tight muscles had cleared that up nicely.

But Gold had been laid up in that hospital bed, foot in a cast _again_. He didn’t need surgery this time at least, but the doctors had apparently informed him that he had undone some of the healing process that had been going on. The bones had cracked in a couple places and he would have to be on crutches again.

The look he had given when he told her that had been inscrutable. She wasn’t sure if he was proud of what he had done, plucking her out of the air and injuring himself to save her. Or if he was angry at her for doing ridiculous things like climbing ladders and leaning out too far to fetch hay.

She was fairly certain it was a bit of both.

In his absence, Belle had been preparing the house for his return. He couldn’t make it up the stairs in his condition and so she had brought down blankets and a pillow, his slippers though really he could wear only one. She dug through his closets and brought down a few changes of clothes. She even brought down Taz’s beaten up old dog bed. She was sure he’d want it.

Glancing around the room, she decided everything was set there.

She had made sure the bathroom was set too. There was a small plastic stool in a closet that she was sure was used when he needed to take a shower. There were towels upstairs and his shaving supplies, soap, toothbrush. Everything she could think of she had brought downstairs in preparation for his return.

She wanted everything to be perfect.

This was _her_ fault after all and she could not brush that thought from her mind. If she hadn’t been so clumsy…if she hadn’t been so adamant…if she hadn’t been so bloody _stupid_ …

Well, there was no use dwelling on that. Gold would probably do enough of that all on his own. She had gone to visit him a couple times in the hospital and while he hadn’t outright said anything that indicated he was angry to be laid up again, there was an edge of pain and a bit of sarcasm that told her it was there in his mind.

He hadn’t fired her at least.

And he hadn’t kicked her out of the house.

David had left a little while ago to get him. How Gold was supposed to get into his big truck, she had no idea, but apparently he had brought him home the first time and could do so again. Gold liked him at least. Oh, he pretended to be annoyed by him, pretended that David was somehow beneath him. But she could see the truth between the two men, a sort of grudging respect that meant they often kept their distance but at the same time had each other’s backs.

It was an odd sort of friendship and she was pretty sure Gold would not even _call_ it a friendship, but it worked nonetheless.

She heard the door open and heard a muttered curse coming from the front hallway. Rushing out, she found David attempting to help Gold through the door. “I don’t need your help,” the latter was snarling at the former. But then he looked up, met her eyes, and she saw his face soften. “Belle.”

“You sound surprised to see me.”

He shrugged, or at least attempted it while holding onto his crutches and leaning rather heavily against the door. “I thought you might…”

“Abandon the animals?” She crossed her arms over her chest and raised one eyebrow.

“She’s been taking care of everything while you’ve been in the hospital,” David pointed out. And Belle was amused to hear a bit of annoyance behind the words. He knew how hard she’d been working to prepare the place and though he had only stopped by to lend a hand with getting the sheep back in the evenings, he had been around to see enough of her hard work.

“Has she now?” Gold turned to look at her and there was a moment there, a connection, before he smiled.

“David helped bring the sheep in every night.” She met his eyes squarely. “I’m not quite ready for that yet.”

He let out a small laugh. “I would think not.”

Belle stepped back and let Gold lead them into the living room. David followed close behind him and she could see the way his hands rose every time Gold stumbled slightly and snarled with each misstep.

The odd processional finally made its way to the living room and Gold slumped down in his recliner. Throwing the crutches to the side he pulled the foot of the chair up and leaned back.

Belled stepped forward. “Do you need…”

“No,” he growled at her.

“I brought down your…”

He snarled something incoherent and Belle backed up a step. She hadn’t seen him act like this before. He had been cantankerous, a bit rude, but never quite like this.

“He was like this the last time,” David murmured, close to her ear.

“I can hear that,” Gold said. “If you would kindly get my Scotch from the cupboard and pour me a glass and _get out_ , I would appreciate it.”

He sounded tired in that moment and so David did as he asked, pouring him a fairly decent sized tumbler of the stuff and nodding at Belle as he started to head for the door.

“I’ll just…see him out.” Belle followed, catching up to David quickly. “I’m sorry.”

David gave her an odd look. “Why are you apologizing?”

“Because it’s my fault?” She shrugged. “I mean, if I hadn’t reached for that bale of hay, I never would have fallen and he wouldn’t have reinjured himself.”

“It’s _not_ your fault.” David put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “If you need anything…”

“I know where to find you. Now go. Spend time with your wife and daughter. You’ve been away too much as it is lately. I can handle Gold.”

David nodded and then disappeared out the door, leaving her alone to face the dragon in his recliner.

When she returned to the room, she found him fishing out a pill from one of the bottles he had placed on the table next to the recliner. His tumbler of Scotch was at his side and before she could even say a word, he had tossed the pill in his mouth and chased it down with the Scotch.

“Did you just…”

He looked up at her as she started to speak and his grin turned wicked. “Yes.”

“But…”

“I’m fairly certain you’re not my mother, Miss French.” He sounded belligerent and she wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the pills or the pain or his anger talking. Maybe it was all of them.

She came in and sat on the couch, the same place she sat when she was first interviewed and was just as uncomfortable now. He watched her, choked back a second pill, and his look said _I dare you to say something_. “Do you hate me?” The words tumbled out of her lips and she hated the way she sounded. Small, scared. She didn’t _want_ him to hate her and for some reason that _mattered_.

Maybe it was because he saved her.

Maybe it was because she cared.

There was a long pause before he spoke again. “No.”

She took a deep breath. “Are you mad at me?”

He smirked then, just a small quirking of his lips. “Maybe a little?” And she loved the uncertainty there.

“I’m sorry.” The words were sincere, heartfelt.

“I know.”

“But?”

“No buts.” He shook his head and for a moment both sat in awkward silence, hands folded in their laps, eyes looking everywhere but at each other. She stole a glance at him from out of lowered lashes and saw his eyes studying the room around them.

“Did you do all of this?” he suddenly asked, one hand gesturing to the room around them.

“All of…” His eyebrows lowered. “Yes. I suppose that I did.”

“Why?”

“I thought that would be rather obvious.” She couldn’t help the somewhat sarcastic smile that crossed her face.

“Humor me, Miss French.”

“Belle,” she said automatically. He still wouldn't call her by her first name. It was always _Miss French_. It distanced himself from her and she was sure that was why he did it. “This was all my fault.” She raised a hand before he could interrupt. “Don’t. I know it is. The least I can do is make you comfortable while you’re recovering from playing Prince Charming.”

He sighed. "I can't say I wasn't mad."

She leaned forward. "At least you can admit it." She tried to smile. "I'm sorry. I truly am."

"You're a walking disaster," he muttered. "But apparently you're _my_ walking disaster."

"Why Mr. Gold," Belle said and batted her eyelashes at him. "I do believe that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

"Oh, don't give me that nonsense." But there was no bite to his words and Belle just laughed.

"Shall I make us dinner?"

His eyes lit up at that but she could tell he was trying so very hard not to look excited. Three days in the hospital meant three days of hospital food and she couldn't imagine that would sit too well with him. Hospital food was terrible. She knew all too well, having sampled what her father couldn’t finish while visiting him.

"I'll take that as a yes," she said with a grin and flitted off to the kitchen to get started on just that.

* * *

"Belle French!"

The voice that called her name was _not_ a happy one and she could just imagine exactly why that was. "Coming!" she answered with, perhaps just a tad bit too sweetly. Oh, she _knew_ was in trouble this time. "Yes, Mr. Gold?"

He was standing by the cupboard, leaning heavily on one crutch, the other hand pointing one accusatory finger at her. "Where is it?"

"Where is…"

"My _Scotch_ , Miss French. My bloody expensive 30-year-old Single Malt Scotch. Where is it?"

"Haven't seen it," she said with a smile. He glowered at her.

"Really?"

"Really," she answered and she knew that _he_ knew she was lying.

"Miss French," he growled.

"Why do you want it?" She crossed her arms over her chest.

"Because I'm bloody well in pain and you bloody well know that." He leaned forward slightly, but caught himself against the cupboard. "Now give it to me."

"So you can take your pain pills?"

"Yes."

"No."

"No?" His face had gone red and she was fairly certain a vein was bulging in his forehead.

"It's _dangerous_ ," she finally managed to get out.

"I think I can make those decisions for myself," he snapped at her. Each word came out hard and precise.

"I don't think you can." She shook her head. So far he hadn't shown very good judgment. She had seen him with the Scotch and his pills on two separation occasions in the days since he returned home from the hospital. She was fairly certain there had been more times that she hadn't caught him.

And he didn't even have the decency to _look_ guilty when she saw him doing it. He just gave her a smirk and knocked the pilled back with the whisky.

Her decision to hide the bottle had been hasty, to be sure. She had stolen in while he slept deeply, so deeply that she was sure it was a result of the combination of painkiller and alcohol. She wouldn't _allow_ him to become some sort of addict, caught in the quicksand that the combination would surely sink him into.

He snarled at her, words she didn't quite understand, and she just shook her head. "I'm not going to let you kill yourself," she said softly. "I care about you too much for that."

The words were plain, honest. He had nothing to say to that, simply stared at her for a moment, silent and still. Belle nodded once at him and departed.

* * *

He stewed for several more days and tore apart the living room trying to figure out where she had hidden the bottle of Scotch. And the other alcohol. She had left nothing to chance, daring him to get up and find the stuff if he wanted it so bad. But he wouldn't. She had hidden it rather cleverly and with his ankle in the condition it was in, he wasn't likely to be able to find it.

And so he refused to talk to her, ate his meals in silence, retreated to his living room and informed her that he didn't wish to be disturbed. He was disturbed _anyway_. Belle brought him tea. She laundered his clothing, prepared his meals, brought him tea and the newspaper that was delivered every day. And when he felt up to it, she brought him his wool to spin.

She was fascinated by that process and could sometimes spend several minutes watching as he lost himself in the rhythm.

But still he stayed quiet, locked inside himself.

It was frustrating to be sure. They had been getting closer and she had ruined it all. First by falling from the ladder and now by hiding his alcohol and refusing him that bit of comfort. But what _else_ could she do?

And so they had come to an impasse, a quiet, very lonely impasse. She missed him. She hadn't quite realized how much she had enjoyed talking to him, hearing his stories about the farm, about the aunts that raised him. He never mentioned his parents and she hadn't pressed for information on them. But his aunts had sounded like tough old women who had ultimately done right by the small boy who had been left in their charge.

It was another three days before he spoke to her. She had arrived in the living room to find him missing and when she couldn't find him on the first floor at all, she almost panicked. But then she heard his voice, coming from somewhere upstairs, calling her name.

She rushed up the stairs, expecting to find him in her room, the bottle of Scotch in hand. But his voice was coming from somewhere else, further down the hallway. Somewhere past even his own room and so she took a right instead of a left.

She found him at the end of the hall in front of a door she had noticed before, but had always been locked. It didn't appear locked now. His hand was on the doorknob and it was pushed slightly open. She couldn't see inside still, but that only whetted her curiosity.

"Ah Miss French, there you are." His voice sounded strangely jovial and she paused for a moment as she approached him.

"Are you quite alright, Mr. Gold?" she asked.

"Yes, yes. Come." He opened the door a bit further. "I have something for you."

"For me?" She couldn't stop the little bit of giddiness in her voice, try to hide it though she did.

"Well, it's not for me, that's for sure. I hardly ever use it." There was the sardonic twist back to his lips, the amusement hidden in the accented voice.

She had no idea where this was coming from, but she wasn't going to complain. With a smile she stepped over the threshold of the room, eyes on Gold. But when he waved an arm around the room and stepped back slightly, she finally got a good look around her.

It was a library.

But not just _any_ library.

It was massive. Bookshelves lined every wall and went clear up to the ceiling. There were rolling ladders, though she noticed none were particularly tall. A fall off one of those would most likely mean only a few bruises. But she suspected Gold would stay away from her if she was on them anyway.

"What is this?" she finally managed to ask after stepping closer to touch some of the books. The smell was enticing. New books mixed with old, the exact smell any library ought to have.

"I thought it should be rather self-explanatory," he answered and she noted the amused sarcasm. Her mouth still hung open and so she closed it as she turned to look at him.

"Yes I know…but…"

"It's for you," he reiterated.

"I don't understand." She couldn’t meet his eyes, kept staring at the books. There were titles, she noted, of a huge variety of subjects, completely unorganized. Books on science and anatomy placed next to novels, all shoved tightly into the space. There had to have been hundreds of them, maybe thousands.

He sighed and she finally turned to look at him. He looked small there, vulnerable, standing in the doorway while she explored the room. "These past couple weeks since the…um…

"Accident?" she offered. Disaster? Mess of her own making? No need to remind him of those things. No doubt he wasn't likely to forget.

"Yes…since the accident. This can't have been easy on you. Don't think I haven't noticed all the extra work you've been putting in around the house. Cleaning, cooking, taking care of all my needs."

She did understand what he meant, in that moment. She had attempted to do everything for him. Partially out of a sense of guilt. She couldn't deny that. She felt _guilty_ , and horribly so, for what she had done to him. But she also did it because there was some tiny part of her that _liked_ the guy. He wasn't easy to get along with. But she found he challenged her in ways no one else did.

"And so…" She let the words hang, waiting for him to go on.

"This is a thank you," he finally said, voice soft as he met her eyes. "I've noticed you haven't been able to get out to the Storybrooke library and keep re-reading the same few books you brought with you, so…" His voice trailed off as he waved a hand around the room. "I'm sure you can find _something_ in here that's to your liking."

She didn't know what came over here in that moment. She stepped closer to him, stomach alive with butterflies and not totally sure she should be doing what she was thinking of doing. But Belle had always been at least a little bit affectionate.

Reaching up, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in close to her for a hug. He was slightly unbalanced for a moment and she was sure she had made a completely horrible mistake. But then one of his arms wrapped around her and held her there.

They stayed there for a moment and Belle felt him relax into the embrace at the same time she did. But finally she backed away, put a small amount of space between them, and looked up at him. "Thank you," she murmured. "Truly. This is…quite a gift."

She didn't know what else to say and he was staring at her, face almost too close. His eyes met hers and the way they flitted back and forth, the way he seemed to study her, she was sure he was searching for something. Permission, she realized as his hand came up to cup her chin and he moved his face just an inch closer to hers.

And she realized she wanted this. Perhaps she had _always_ wanted this. When his lips met hers, soft and dry, she wrapped her arms tighter around his neck, pulled herself close to him, tangled her fingers in his hair. She heard the other crutch hit the ground and both of his arms came around her waist, hands splayed out across her back. He pulled back, hit the wall, used that as balance as he deepened the kiss, his mouth slanting across hers, his tongue dipping in to taste her.

She moaned somewhere deep in her throat, felt that kiss go straight down to her center. When he pulled away, they were both breathing hard.

"I don't even know your name." She didn't know why those words came out. But he had kissed her and she still called him _Mr. Gold_ and there was something not quite right about that. He was her boss, her employer.

"Tavish," he muttered. And then he kissed her again and she forgot about everything else in that moment except the feel of his lips and his body pressed to hers. When they broke apart again she tried to speak. "Don't…please."

Truth be told she wasn't sure if she could have managed words anyway.

But then he released her and she backed up a pace. "Tavish," she said and the syllables sounded strange on her lips.

"I'm sorry." He shook his head and retrieved the crutch from where it had landed on the ground. "I'm so… _so_ …sorry." And then he turned and hobbled down the hallway, shutting the door to his bedroom tight behind him, leaving Belle standing framed in the doorway to the library, alone, confused.

All she knew was she hadn't planned for this to happen.

But it had.

And she had no damned idea what to do about it.


	12. Chapter 12

She’d like to say everything changed at the moment Gold kissed her. But it didn’t. In fact, things returned to normal. Or at least as normal as she could imagine when your boss had kissed you both were conflicted about it.

They danced around each other in the days after the kiss. It wasn't mentioned though she thought about bringing it up more than once. She thought about replaying it more than once too, but had never quite gotten the nerve. It had been a moment, she supposed. She had invaded his space and it had led someplace she had never quite expected.

But it brought about a truth she wasn't quite ready to face. Every time he touched her, and he didn't very often really, she felt the crackle of electricity, the somewhat harsh snap of attraction. She had tried to deny it. He was a difficult man to spend time with, often sarcastic, sometimes downright nasty if the pain got the better of him. He shied away from her touch and from personal questions. She knew almost nothing about him and while she had been open with him on much of her life, he still knew little about her as well.

He didn't ask.

And she wasn't sure if that was for lack of interest or because he simply didn't want to invade her privacy.

But then they had kissed.

And she expected there to be some change.

Soft looks, softer touches, something, _anything_. But she had not gotten that. He went back to being irate over his missing Scotch. She went back to making his meals. And the passionate kiss in the library was the sort of elephant in the room. It loomed large and yet both pretended it wasn't there.

It had to break sometime.

But something told her he was stubborn, perhaps even more stubborn than _she_ was and that was really saying something. So he would refuse to acknowledge that _something_ had clearly happened between them.

And she would work quietly, subtly, to get him to finally speak of it.

She had to. Or she might go nuts. It was really _really_ bothering her and the more time that went on, the more bothersome the whole thing got.

She often wondered what would have happened if they had ended up in bed together. They almost had. She was as sure of that as she was anything else. But then he had stepped back, and realized what he had done, and apologized. As if he were the only one involved in that kiss. As if she had not wanted it as much as he did in that moment. Instead of going to bed, he had gone back downstairs, her following behind not long after. He had demanded his damned Scotch and she had yelled at him for being stupid enough to attempt the stairs in his condition. They had gone from near-lovers to a fight in what seemed like seconds and instead of spending the night in his bed she had spent the night alone in her own bedroom, locked away from the pain and anger coming from downstairs.

But she thought about that kiss. Often. Probably more often than she would have liked, really. It wasn't the first time she had been kissed. But it had been the first time she had truly _felt_ something and she couldn't let go of that quite so easily as he seemed to.

It was some three weeks after the kiss that Gold finally got off the crutches. He found her in the kitchen as she was making a couple grilled cheese sandwiches for them.

"No time for that now," he said and she whirled around to face him. He stood framed in the doorway and she realized exactly how _handsome_ he really was. His hair was just a touch too shaggy, his nose just a touch too hooked, but he cut a dashing figure in the knitted sweaters he favored and he looked much better leaning on the gold-handled cane than the crutches he had been using.

"The doctor cleared you again," she said with a smile.

"Indeed he did."

"Good." And she wanted to hug him again but she wasn't sure what kind of reception that might get. Nor where it would lead to. So she allowed him to take the lead this time.

"We have work to do," he said and attempted to wave her out of the kitchen.

She shook her head. "Not before lunch we don't." She wagged a finger at him. "You're still on pain medication…"

"For a couple more days," he pointed out.

"And that medication requires food," she finished.

He sighed. "Fine. But once I'm off this medication…"

"You'll get your damned Scotch back," she finished for him. "But not before." And she smirked. He still hadn't discovered her newest hiding place and she suspected he never would. He rarely went into the attic and he certainly didn't bother climbing up the rickety stairs in his condition. It was her little spot to hide things as she saw fit. When he was done with the last of his pills, she'd give it back to him.

She finished grilling the sandwiches and flipped them onto plates. Gold had rather dutifully taken his seat at the table and he grabbed the sandwich almost as soon as she put it down in front of him. He'd get a burned tongue for that one but it didn't even seem to bother him. It was gone before she even got one bite of her own.

"Aren't you done yet?" he asked.

"Eager, are we?" She gave him a look with a raised eyebrow and took a bite of her sandwich.

"We haven't gotten out there with Bandit in over three weeks," he pointed out.

"Well, _you_ haven't." She smirked at him. "Bandit and I have been practicing commands."

"Really now?" She liked that not only was surprise evident in his voice, but also a bit of respect. He was impressed. Oh, he wouldn't admit it. She knew that. But she could also clearly see it in the way he leveled his gaze on her.

She finished her sandwich quickly and as soon as she was done, he was up and moving. She'd never seen someone who had to use a cane move quite so quickly. But he was obviously ready to get out there with the dogs and the sheep and resume everything they had been doing before her disastrous fall and his injury.

Rushing along behind him, they arrived at the base of the hill together. Taz was at his side. Of course he was. The dog was always there, though Gold would put him away while she worked with Bandit. He sent the dog up and around the sheep and this time she had some idea of what was going on, what the whistles meant and how it all worked.

It wasn't any less beautiful. Gold and Taz worked together like a well-oiled machine. And seeing their communication was breathtaking. But it had lost the mystery somehow and she felt almost sad at that. A few more whistles and the sheep were moving on a direct path to them. As they came close, Gold sent Taz around to the side to halt them and then he stepped up closer.

"Watch," was all he said as he used his cane to help push some of the sheep away from the others. When there was a small gap between the two sections of sheep, the large one on the left, the smaller on the right, he called again to Taz. "In here." And the dog crept in between them. The smaller group of sheep peeled off and Taz and Gold in concert herded the larger group into the pen.

When the gate closed behind them, he released Taz from his duties and turned back to her.

"That's a bit of a tight fit," she said, waving a hand at the sheep filling the pen they normally worked in.

"I know. We won't be working with those sheep." There was a slight smile ghosting across his face. "We'll be working with _those_."

She eyed the other five with a bit of dismay. "But…"

"No buts, Miss French. It's time you started working Bandit out on the field." She started to speak but he held up a hand. "You said you've been practicing."

"Just the commands. Not with sheep." Truth be told she _thought_ about trying to get the sheep into the pen on her own, but she had no clue how to move the animals herself, Bandit was far from ready to do that kind of work and she and Taz were not any sort of team, though the big red and white dog clearly liked her.

She had been pretty sure she would screw it up though. And then she'd have to call David to help. Or tell Gold what she had done. The last thing she wanted to do was lose his sheep. Not only would he be angry, but she was pretty sure she'd never ever hear the end of it. Gold did not seem like the kind of person to forgive all that easily.

"Well, then today's your lucky day, Miss French. You get to try it _with_ sheep. And with my expert guidance, of course." He smirked at her and waved her toward the central part of the field.

"Do you have to still call me that?" She shook her head as she spoke. They had _kissed_. It hardly seemed like _Miss French_ and _Mr. Gold_ were appropriate anymore.

"It's your name, isn't it?"

"My name is _Belle_ ," she pointed out.

"Be that as it may…"

"We…"

"Don't," he said with a hand raised. And she knew that _he_ knew what she was going to say. The elephant. He didn't want to talk about that damned elephant. "Fine… _Belle_ …you win. I'll call you whatever you wish, just go try to herd some damned sheep, will you?"

She laughed. "Excellent. And I'll call you…"

"Gold," he finished for her.

"What? No…"

"No one calls me by my given name."

"But…"

"No one even knows what it is," he added. "Not even Mr. Nolan and he's the closest thing I have to a friend."

" _I_ know it." She crossed her arms over her chest.

"That was…" He paused here, hand waving rather uselessly in the air. "An indiscretion."

The words hit her hard in the chest. Her voice was tight when she next spoke. "Giving me your name or…"

"The name," he said quickly. Then his voice softened. "Only the name."

She took a deep breath, nodded. "Alright then. Show me what's next, oh great teacher." The last was said to lighten the mood, to pull him away from the dark thoughts she could see churning about in his gaze. She would get him to allow her to call him by his given name someday. Today was not the day for the fight.

He watched her a moment longer. "Outruns, Miss…Belle." He glared at her for a moment and she just smiled in response.

"We've been doing those."

"Not like this, you haven't. Bandit knows to work when she can see the sheep close by. But she needs to learn to fetch them from much further away."

She nodded. "Of course." Glancing upwards, she noted the sheep had gone nearly to the top of the hill. "Can she get them from that far away?" Taz could, she knew. She'd seen him bring back the thirty head of sheep easily, even from so far away she could almost not see the sheep. But Bandit was still so new.

"I doubt it," he answered and whistled to Taz. The dog responded instantly and at his command raced out and around the sheep. He made the lift, that moment when the sheep start moving, look effortless. Once the sheep had come down about halfway, Gold whistled for him to lie down and he did so. He whistled for him to move to clockwise around the sheep and when he got out to where he wanted to, another whistle had the dog stopping. "Taz will hold the sheep until released."

"Now you," he said. "Send her around clockwise, opposite where Taz is."

She nodded and stepped up, Bandit on her left. The dog was almost quivering with excitement, waiting to be released. Just a glance at her told Belle that she knew where the sheep were. And so she released her with a quiet command. "Come bye."

Bandit was off like a shot. The arch started perfectly. She went out to the left a little bit, but then started to come in too close. "Use your 'get out' command," he said quickly.

She took the whistle to her mouth and issued the proper command. Bandit didn't respond fast enough and as she came in, the sheep started to panic. The dog was too close, moving too fast. Belle issued one long, loud blast on the whistle and Bandit stopped immediately, laying down and continuing to stare at the sheep.

"Release her," Gold said quietly and as Belle did so and Bandit loped back to her, he continued. "She has to learn respect for the sheep. She doesn't work properly, doesn't listen, she doesn't play the game."

"Is it just a game?" Belle turned to look at him.

His face was serious when he turned to her. "No. It's _life_." She didn't know what to say to that and so let him work with Taz to put the sheep back where he wanted them. "Again," he said.

All together they ended up doing it about five times before Belle and Bandit got it right together. Bandit had a tendency to want to go too close to the sheep and Belle had a tendency to use the whistle just a hair too late. But with Gold behind her, guiding her, she was starting to be able to tell when Bandit was going to make the move to go closer and she was able to whistle for her to get out.

Gold had actually been impressed with the last outrun. Bandit had gone around right where she was supposed to and managed to lift the sheep and start them moving toward Belle. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't the amazing communication he and Taz had.

But it was a start.

From there, he had her practice the same on the right side and after two semi-successful outruns, had Bandit bring the group straight down to her. Up and back. Nothing more complicated than that. She felt quite accomplished, really. It wasn’t much. It was simple. But they had come _so_ far.

“Release her,” Gold said quietly after Bandit had driven the sheep almost right to their laps.

“That’ll do,” Belle said and immediately the dog relaxed and ran toward her, tongue lolling out of her mouth. Gold made his way over to the larger pen and released the sheep and together the group of them fled back up the hill.

Belle watched as they took off, feeling a little dismayed and Gold just grinned at her. “I’ll get them this evening, as always.” She continued to watch them for a moment and he remained there with her. Finally he spoke again. "Come Miss French…"

"Belle," she said softly, allowing a bit of an amused tone to enter her voice.

"Of course. Come along then, _Belle_. I believe you've earned the rest of the afternoon off."

She smiled at him and stepped closer to him and for a moment he looked almost _frightened_. And then she linked her arm through his. He froze. She pulled herself closer and look up at him, grin on her face.

"Come on Tavish. I think you deserve the afternoon off too." She saw him flinch at his given name.

"Didn't I tell you not to call me that?" he grumbled at her.

She laughed. "No, I don't think you did."

"Well, don't call me that."

"Whyever not?" She raised one eyebrow at him. "It’s your name, isn't it?"

"Well, yes..." He paused and gave her a frustrated look. "But I'm your boss."

She just shook her head. "Aren't we a bit beyond that now?" She was skirting dangerously close to that elephant he didn't want to talk about. The look he gave her at that was desperate and she could see the plea in his eyes. _Don't talk about it. Don't bring it up. I can't face it_.

With a sigh she released his arm. "I'll see you back at the house." She strode off with Bandit at her side, leaving Gold to follow slowly behind her.

* * *

_Well, you screwed that one up, old man_. But what choice did he have, really? He had thought about going to David Nolan, asking for advice, though he just couldn’t quite manage it. He couldn't quite bring himself to admit that he had taken advantage of her.

No, it wasn't quite that.

She had kissed him back and had clearly wanted it as much as he did. He was sure of that the more times he went back in his mind to that moment.

That surprised him of course, but he was perhaps even _more_ surprised that _he_ wanted it like he did. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he had kissed a woman. Ten years at least, maybe longer. He had been divorced for eight, but his wife had left him long before then. Any sort of passion, and there had been admittedly little to start with, had long since gone by the wayside. Before he had the proof she was cheating right in front of him, he was _certain_ of it.

And so it had been a long time. A _very_ long time. He chalked up his inability to get the feel of Belle French in his arms, the feel of her hands tangled in his hair, out of his mind to that fact. He was not one for tender feelings. At least not about women. Treacherous creatures, all. Now dogs? Dogs he could trust. They gave you their loyalty and their love and never once betrayed you, didn’t leave you for someone else. The only betrayal he’d ever had by dogs was their dying far too young. In a lot of ways, he still hadn’t gotten over the death of his childhood dog. He had been the best of the best, though Taz certainly came close.

While Belle French seemed guileless, seemed like the type of woman who would never ever betray someone, he knew better.

_Bloody hell._

He really had to stay away from this woman. Perhaps he’d give her the evening off too.


	13. Chapter 13

Belle checked the mirror one last time before she headed toward the door. Gold had given her the night off. Not that she generally did much in the evening, but she had been cooking their meals, cleaning up after them, making sure he was settled. He was able to get upstairs on his own now, had been able to since…well…there was no use thinking about their one kiss. It had gone nowhere and she suspected from his lack of response and his clear lack of interest in pushing things further, that he felt it was a mistake.

She wasn’t quite sure what she thought just yet.

Mistake? Maybe.

Or maybe something she had just really wanted.

She wasn’t exactly lonely up there on the hill, but she did crave _some_ sort of connection. But she wasn’t sure she wanted that with just anyone. Maybe it was just Gold that she wanted to connect with? He drew her in. Sarcastic commentary, morning crankiness, his insistence on fine teas and not coffee. He was an endearing pain in the ass, if she did say so herself. And one she had come to genuinely _like_ , despite his rather forceful insistence that no one could like him.

She stepped into the living room to find Gold in his recliner, tumbler of Scotch already in hand and a newspaper spread out across his lap. He seemed so focused on it that she simply watched for a moment, hating to disturb him.

“Yes, Miss French?” he finally asked, not even bothering to look up from his paper.

“I’m going out…”

“I know,” he responded with quickly.

“Did you need anything before I go?” She bit her lip and scrunched up her nose a bit with the words. She wasn’t even sure she really _did_ want to go. She was happy enough to go out with Ruby and Ariel. She had been enjoying getting to know them so when Ruby found out she had the night off, well, hitting her favorite bar was rather high on her list of things she must get Belle to do.

She suspected it was not her sort of place, really. Belle preferred quiet coffee shops if she were to go out with people. But it was Ruby’s call. She almost hoped Gold changed his mind and decided he needed her after all.

“I’m not an invalid,” he shot back and finally looked up at her.

“I know,” she answered softly.

And waited for him to say something.

For what felt like forever.

He watched her and she was almost sure the hand that reached for his tumbler trembled slightly.

“Tavish?” she said and he almost knocked the tumbler over.

“Just go,” he snarled at her and she stepped back at the harsh words. “Go and have fun with your _friends_.” He hissed the last word at her. “I’ll be here.” He waved a hand around himself. “ _Right_ here, I’m sure…when you get back.”

She inclined her head, watched him for a moment longer. “I’ll just…be at The Rabbit Hole…if you need anything.”

He didn’t respond and so she turned, disappeared out the door. She knew it was the coward’s way out, really. She _wanted_ to confront him, bring up their kiss, shout at him about his avoiding any mention of it. He wanted to go back to _Miss French_ and forget that anything had ever happened. _That_ much was obvious. But he couldn’t. He had initiated it. Even if she had been the one to hug him, he had been the one who pulled her in for a kiss.

And now he was the one pretending it had never happened.

Well, for that night _she_ could pretend it never happened. Pretend _he_ never happened. Ruby was sure to see to that.

* * *

“Another?” Ruby asked her. Belle glanced down at her glass. She wasn’t drunk. Not yet. Though she felt a little tipsy from the few drinks Ruby had plied her with so far.

_You need to forget about him_ , Ruby had said and Belle had wondered how on Earth Ruby could be perceptive enough to know there was something even going on there.

_A girl knows_ , she had said and Belle had been content to leave it at that. She didn't want to discuss her…well…whatever life it was. Love life certainly wasn't the correct term. She didn't love him. He didn't love her. But attraction? That was there in spades, deny it though he may want to.

"No, I don't think so," Belle finally managed to say. "I do have to drive home later. I should probably cut myself off."

Ruby nodded. "You can always stay at the inn," she pointed out. "Drink whatever you want, stumble back. Granny'll take good care of you."

Belle shook her head. "Gold would worry."

Ruby just raised one eyebrow. "Really, then."

"Well, I do live with the guy."

"What _is_ that all about anyway?" Ruby suddenly asked. "I mean, the guy is a miser. He likes _no one_. Yet out of nowhere he asks you to live with him. You're not…"

"No!" Belle said and the word was a bit more forceful than she intended. "It's not like that."

"Hmmm…"

"What is that for?"

"The lady doth protest too much?" Ruby asked and her grin said it all.

"It's not, Ruby. I swear. I think he's lonely…" Her voice trailed off on the last. Even now he was holed up alone in his house, probably on his second or third glass of Scotch, reading a newspaper or a book on history. He didn't even put the television on very often, as if the voices were too much for him. No, he was alone in the silence of his house. And he was lonely, even if he didn't quite realize it.

"You're falling in love with him," Ruby said on a gasp.

"Ruby," Belle warned.

"You _are_. That's the only explanation."

"For?"

"Belle, you have turned down _four_ guys who have come over here tonight. _Four_. Now look, I don't know what your dating life was like before you popped up in our little town, but that was four very eligible and very handsome men…"

"Did I hear something about being eligible and handsome?" The voice that came from behind the two surprised them and together they turned to face the man standing there. Belle almost groaned. It was a near-exact repeat of the other guys who had stopped by. He was tall, handsome in a sort of rugged way that screamed gym junkie. The exact kind of guy Belle avoided at all costs. Gaston, the guy she had dated so very briefly during college, was one of those. She had quickly learned that while he had clearly exercised the muscles of his body, he had _not_ bothered exercising his brain. _Dumb as a box of rocks_ was the phrase that came to mind.

"Why hello there, sailor," Ruby said, red lips pulling upward in a seductive smile.

The man scratched his head. "I'm a personal trainer."

"Close enough," Ruby said brightly.

But the man barely gave Ruby a glance. His attention was focused solely on Belle. "I'm Keith. Eligible _and_ handsome."

Belle fought hard not to roll her eyes. "Good for you."

The dismissive tone, the sarcasm, seemed to fly right over his head. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"No, sorry," Belle said, though she wasn't sorry at all and she was fairly certain that was obvious in her voice. "I'm done for the night."

Keith pressed in closer to her. "How about a dance then? I bet you bump and grind _real_ good."

"Seriously?" The word slipped out before she could even stop it. She glanced at Ruby and her friend quickly came to the rescue.

"Another time, tiger," she said as she rose and used her body to block the man and force him to back away a bit. "Belle's a bit tired."

"Belle?" he said. "That’s your name?" He leaned around Ruby to stare at her. "I'll find you later." He winked at her, leering grin in place. And then he walked off. Well, stumbled off might be the better term. Keith was obviously a few sheets to the wind, something that made him even less appealing than his apparent love for himself.

"Number five!" Ruby said and took another sip of her cocktail.

"Did you _see_ him?" Belle hissed at her friend.

"Oh did I ever." Ruby gave a slight laugh. "Especially those biceps. Personal trainer." She fanned herself with her hand and gave a huge sigh.

"Not my type," Belle muttered.

"What _is_ your type then, Belle? Short, old, and cranky?"

The words stung. She wouldn't pretend they didn't. "Smart," Belle responded with. "Smart and well-read." She wanted to add that he wasn't old, but she knew that Ruby would pick up her rather mixed feelings for her boss and housemate.

"I'm sure _one_ of those men might have been." Belle wasn't so sure of that. "I mean, look at Ariel." Belle turned to follow the direction of Ruby's pointing. Ariel had started talking to a guy almost as soon as the trio had set foot in the bar. And even though he worked at the fish cannery and Ariel was a vegetarian, they seemed to be hitting it off. Currently the two were cozying it up together at a corner booth.

"Yes, well…" What else could she say to that, really? "Maybe I'm just not ready for someone, Ruby."

Ruby shook her head and the two fell into silence for a moment. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Keith hitting on some other woman who turned him down and his eyes strayed back to her.

"I think I'm just going to go," Belle finally said.

"Aww Belle…"

"You'll have better luck without me dragging you down." New friends and she still couldn't handle being out with them for more than a couple hours at a time. All she wanted at that moment was peace, quiet, and a good book. The pounding music, the crowded bar, it was all getting to her.

"Are you sure? The offer of the inn still stands."

"I'm sure. You go have fun. We'll catch up later." She reached out and squeezed her friend's shoulder and, slinging her purse over her shoulder, slipped out the door.

* * *

"You just can't leave well enough alone, can you?" Gold glared at the other man. It was his evening _alone_ and David Nolan was sure to see that was ruined.

"So you're just going to drink yourself into a stupor?" Nolan sounded incredulous, which might have been amusing if he didn't sound that way at least ninety percent of the time he spoke to him. It seemed that _everything_ surprised the younger man.

"That _was_ the plan, dearie." He reached for the tumbler only to find Nolan had pulled it away from him.

"Why?"

Gold's brow creased. "Why what?"

"Why do you need to get drunk?"

Gold narrowed his eyes on him. "What are you, Mormon?"

"What…"

"They don’t drink, dearie. Oh nevermind. What is it you want, Mr. Nolan? You're sorely trying my patience." He made another attempt at grabbing the tumbler and was confronted instead with Nolan's grinning face.

"Where's Belle?"

"You're here for _her_?" He hated the way his voice sounded so grumpy at that, as if he would have been happy for Nolan to come see _him_.

"Mary Margaret wanted to see if she might be up for some babysitting sometime…"

"Hard up, are we?" He said the last with a light laugh.

"Well…no?"

"You must be. The girl is as likely to drop the babe as she is take care of him." There was one thing that Belle French was good at and that was making a disaster of things. _Everything_ really. She had come into his life all sweetness and light and had taken a bloody wrecking ball to it. He had landed back in the hospital, had kissed the infernal girl, and now couldn't bloody well stop thinking about her.

At David's confused look, Gold let out a snort and tapped his injured foot with his cane.

"Oh…right…" He stared at Gold for a moment before, head slightly cocked. "How was that her fault again?"

"Oh, she hasn't told you the story?" His time in the hospital was a bit of a haze, but he thought that David knew.

"You were the one who chose to catch her," Nolan pointed out.

"Indeed I was. But she was the one who chose to do something stupid."

"Only because you didn't tell her there was an easier way."

Gold crossed his arms over his chest. "Fine." Another pause, his anger simmering just below the surface. "As Belle is not here, it seems your visit is not needed."

"So where is she?"

"Really, now…"

"Where…"

"I believe she went to some place called 'The Rabbit Hole' with her friends." He waved a hand dismissively in the air. "Perhaps you can find her there."

Nolan cursed.

Gold couldn't remember the last time that Nolan had ever cursed in front of him. It was fascinating, really. Nolan was _nice_. He was mild-mannered. Nothing ruffled his feathers, not even Gold's sarcastic comments and sometimes downright nastiness.

"Is there something wrong, Mr. Nolan?"

"You've never heard of the place?" He watched as the other man shook his head, ran his fingers through his hair.

"Clearly not."

"It's some sort of dive bar. Pretty rough place. Why would she go there?"

Gold shrugged. "Her friends wanted to, I suppose?"

"You do know she's not from around here, right?" The man was starting to sound exasperated.

"Of course. She's from Australia." He cocked his head slight to the side. "What exactly are you getting at?" And then a pause. "Should I be worried?" He tried to sound nonchalant with those last words but the grin on Nolan's face told him he knew otherwise.

"Now we're talking. I _knew_ you cared about her, old man."

"Watch who you're calling _old_ , Mr. Nolan," he growled back at him.

"You're not denying it."

"I have nothing to deny," he said with a slight wave of his hand.

"Then you _know_ you care for her." Another grin. He was afraid if he didn't say anything else, Nolan would clap him on the back and tell him _Go get her tiger_.

"That is neither here nor there." Gold managed to draw himself to his feet, leaned heavily on his cane. "It seems we have a damsel to rescue…again."

* * *

She hadn't gotten more than about ten feet out of the bar when she heard a small scuffling noise come from behind her. Turning quickly, she peered into the shadows and finally saw Keith standing there.

When she noticed him, he stepped out of the shadows, closer to her. She wanted to back up a pace, put more distance between them, but she didn't want to show any fear. She wasn't afraid of him, exactly. Though he did make her very nervous. At only five foot two, the large man simply dwarfed her. "I thought maybe we could get a chance to talk without your friend around."

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I'm actually headed home." She tried to at least _look_ apologetic, even if she didn't feel that way.

"Oh come now," Keith said and took another step toward her. "It's still early yet. Surely you won't turn into a pumpkin if you don't get home by midnight?"

"The carriage," she muttered.

"What?"

"The _carriage_ turns into a pumpkin. Not Cinderella." She looked away on the last words. She was even _more_ sure now than before that he wasn't her type. Such as simple thing, really. Gold would have known it was the carriage.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Keith sounded _angry_ and Belle felt a small flutter somewhere inside her. Fear, she realized. She was alone outside the business, in the alley that led to the parking lot. Alone with a man who was over a foot taller than her and probably had at least a hundred pounds of weight on her. Alone with a man who had had far too much to drink and thought far too highly of himself to think someone could actually turn him down.

"Nothing. I'm just tired." She tried to step around him, but he blocked her path. "Will you please just let me get to my car?"

"Nah," he answered with, putting one hand on the wall and leaning closer to her. Belle _did_ take a step back this time. Then another. "Why don't you come back inside and have a drink with me?" His breath smelled like stale liquor, like he had been drinking for hours before this moment.

"Thank you, but no," she reiterated. "Now will you let me get to my car?" She should turn and run, go back into the bar, get Ruby. Something. Anything.

She took yet another step back.

Keith closed the space between them and his hand came up to touch her hair.

"Please stop," Belle muttered and flinched away. "I just need to get home." Need, want. It didn't matter anymore. She had to get away, anywhere really. Back into The Rabbit Hole perhaps, to the safety of her car. Belle gripped her purse hard as Keith yanked at her hair to pull her closer to him. Without even thinking what she was doing, she hauled off and hit him hard in the side of the face with it.

Stunned, Keith let go of her and stepped back. Belle burst past him. Her car. If she could just reach her car.

Her keys were in her hand.

She could see the car up ahead.

She swore to never ever go out alone and never ever wear heels again if she could _just_ get to that car and get to safety.

"You bitch!" She heard the words before she felt the hand that grabbed her hair and jerked her back. "Did you think you could just do that and run?" Keith pulled her around forcefully, using all of his body weight to slam her hard into the wall of the alley.

Her breath left her in a startled gasp.

The keys and the purse hit the ground as her hands came up to fend him off.

"You just gotta give me a chance." He reached around, grabbed her neck, pulled her close to him. "I'll make it good for you, baby. I swear."

Belle tried to pull back, but the grip of his hand on the back of her neck was too strong. She pushed at his chest. "No. Please no. Just leave me alone." She couldn't move him though and his lips came down on hers, messy and wet and absolutely reeking of alcohol and garlic.

She tried to pull away.

But he was too big.

Too frightening.

Too…

"I believe the lady said _no_." She barely registered the voice, calm and cool and collected, before she heard the sharp sound of _something_ colliding with something much larger and Keith let out a shout before shoving her away and backing up.

"This is none of your damned business," he said as he turned to face the person who had spoken.

Belle stood slightly bent over, hand to her mouth, trying not to vomit, as Gold stepped out of the shadows. "I believe that it is, dearie."

He sounded dangerous, his voice low and silky.

"She ain't your girlfriend," Keith said and Belle wanted to kick him. Hard.

"Perhaps not," Gold answered, still with that deadly calm tone. "But that doesn't matter. No does, after all, mean _no_. Or has no one ever taught you that?"

Keith took a step toward him. "Back off old man." He took a couple more steps toward Gold. He was standing close in front of him when he next spoke. "If you want a piece of her, you're going to have to wait your turn."

Belle was frozen to the spot as she watched Keith raise his hand, the intention to strike his much smaller opponent clear.

But he had no time to do that. Gold swung his cane in a fast arc and hit Keith hard on the hand. The bigger man let out a hiss of pain and clutched his hand close to his body as he rushed Gold. She felt like she couldn't breathe. Keith was huge, well over six feet and built like a linebacker. Gold was small, slight, and still injured.

Gold picked up his cane again and this time when he hit Keith with it, a direct blow to the side of the man's head, he felled him like the big ox he was. Keith landed hard on his knees and Gold was on him in a second.

Another blow landed on his back, a second one quickly following. Keith howled in pain, bent over, face to the ground with his arms up protecting his head and neck.

And still the blows continued. Gold's face had gone from calm and collected to fierce. His teeth were bared in a snarl and he was shouting words that were entirely incoherent.

After two more blows, Belle finally found herself unfreezing. "Stop!" she shouted and grabbed Gold's right wrist, pulled it back. In the silence that followed that moment, she could hear Gold's harsh breathing, Keith's moans, her own heartbeat loud in her ears. "You're going to kill him."

"He deserves that much." Gold's voice was laced with darkness, his arm strained against the hold she had on him.

"Tavish… _please_." He tried to pull forward once more, hit the resistance of her hand with its tight grip. "He's not worth it." And then the fight went out of him. She felt him slump forward, like a doll whose strings had been cut.

Belle shuddered as she released him, wrapping her arms around herself. She felt cold, shivering, her heart was racing and her whole body felt heavy. Gold stood, using the cane to leverage himself to his feet, and turned to her. "Belle," he whispered and she was sure it was the first time he had voluntarily used her name. He reached out, pulled her to him, wrapped his arms around her.

But she couldn't bring herself to do the same and he finally backed off. Her arms wrapped tighter around herself. "Are you alright?" Gold managed to ask and his voice was tight.

"I…I think so. I'm not hurt. He didn't hurt me." She glanced down at Keith, who was trying to slink away from them. Gold followed her gaze and set his cane down in front of him.

"Not so fast, dearie. I do believe you'll need to be having a conversation with the police on this little… _situation_." He sneered the last at him as he leaned down.

"Tavish," she murmured.

He watched her for a moment. "I should get you home."

"No," she said and held her hand up in front of her, stopping him before he could get any closer. He had _saved_ her. That much she was sure of. If he hadn't shown up she could well imagine what would have happened to her at Keith's hands. Gold's showing up, and she didn't even know _why_ he was there and wasn't that just something she needed to talk to him about, had stopped Keith.

But he had almost killed him.

Almost taken the life of a man who probably had a good eighty pounds on him. He was small and fierce and he had _frightened_ her.

"Belle?"

"I need Ruby," she said and hated the way her voice shook.

"Where is she?"

"Bar..." She felt faint, leaned up against the wall. She had to get away. From Keith. From Gold. From the whole damned thing.

Gold stepped closer and held out an arm. "Come on…I'll get you to her…"

"No," Belle said. "No just…leave me alone. Take care of…this…" She waved a hand at Keith and then stepped back from him, turned to walk away.

"Are you coming home?" His voice sounded small, especially after the snarling incoherency of minutes ago, but she couldn't make herself turn to look at him at that moment.

"No," she whispered. "No I don't think so." And then she disappeared back into the noisy crowd of the bar to find Ruby.


	14. Chapter 14

"What did you do?"

Nolan. He had forgotten he had arrived with Nolan, the younger man shoving him into his truck and driving at a rather mad pace down the hills to get to the bar. He had been out of the truck almost before Nolan had stopped it, had been heading into the bar when he heard the sound of voices in the alleyway.

He couldn’t really say what drew him there. Maybe it was that the woman sounded slightly frantic, the man's voice slurred and his words almost not understandable. Maybe it was that some part of him recognized the voice and knew Belle was in trouble.

When he had turned the corner and saw the big lout grab Belle by the neck and force her into a kiss with him, his vision had dimmed, the corners turning black and red.

He barely remembered what happened after that. He came to with Belle's hand on his arm and the bastard crawling about on the ground at his feet. His cane was raised and he realized that his right ankle hurt like a bitch and the handle of his cane had blood on it.

"Apparently I beat him half to death." Gold's voice was grim as he looked down at the man at his feet.

"Who is he?"

Gold shook his head. "I have no bloody idea, but he was attacking Belle…"

"Belle? Where is she?" Nolan looked alarmed, glanced around the alleyway as if he expected to find her dead at the man's side.

"She's gone back into the bar to find her friend Ruby."

"Ruby, good," Nolan said. "Why didn't you go with her?" And his voice sounded rather self-righteously accusatory.

"She…um…" He held up the cane.

"She didn't want to have anything to do with you," Nolan surmised.

"Exactly."

"But you saved her," he pointed out.

"Again," Gold said, his face set in a grim look. "But it seems that seeing my sort of rescue attempt was perhaps a bit too much for her." As it should have been, he knew. Belle was gentle. She was kind. She was not the sort of woman who would want her attacker killed. She would want justice done in the right way, not by a vigilante with a cane whose anger got the better of him.

She knew who he was now.

No wonder she had run for the hills.

* * *

Belle woke and for a moment she wasn't sure where she was. It was disorienting, that waking up in the dark and feeling like you're not where you're supposed to be. Something in the room seems off, the furniture not where you expect it. She rolled and dug out her phone and let it half-light up the room around her.

The Inn.

She was staying at Granny's Bed and Breakfast.

The night before came back to her suddenly and she shivered, though she was quite warm. She had known there was some sort of darkness to Gold. She could see it in his eyes, in the way he interacted with the world, in the way he closed himself off from everyone. There were layers there that she was sometimes afraid to get too deep into.

Last night she found one.

He had nearly beaten that man to death.

And it wasn't about Keith. Not really, at least. The man was abhorrent, a scourge. If Gold hadn't appeared when he did, Keith would have overpowered her easily and then where would she be? Weeping alone in an alleyway after he finished what he started.

Gold had saved her. Again. There was no doubt about that. He had swooped in like some sort of dark Prince Charming and had protected her with a fierceness she never could have expected.

But sometime during his protecting her, a switch had flipped. She had seen the moment it happened, the way his eyes turned dark, the way his snarling turned to a feral grin. And he had gone from simply protecting her to being out for blood. He had wanted to _kill_ that man.

And he would have.

She knew that much.

But somehow she had been able to stop him.

That look in his eyes though. It had haunted her dreams, her nightmares. The Gold she had been getting to know, the Gold who had kissed her in his library, was sarcastic, sometimes rude, but _always_ gentle with her.

The Gold she saw last night had been pushed over the edge and it frightened her. She could admit that much to herself, couldn't she? It had scared her so much that the thought of spending the night under the same roof with him was not something she could handle at that moment

She had gone in to find Ruby to take her up on her offer of staying at the inn. One look at Belle and Ruby _knew_ something had gone on. Without even questioning her, she had brought her back to the inn, had gotten her a key. Belle hadn't wanted to talk about it and so she was thankful that her new friend seemed to be rather intuitive. Ruby had left her, making sure she would be ok, and told her she would check up on her in the morning.

Belle had _almost_ asked her to stay in the room with her. She wasn't sure she wanted to be alone, but decided there was an awkwardness there she wasn't ready for. And so Ruby had left and Belle had climbed into the shower to scrub herself clean.

She had stayed in the shower until the hot water had all but run out, until her skin felt raw and tender from her need to practically flay it from her bones. She brushed her teeth three times that night and still she couldn't get that horrible taste of garlic and alcohol out of her mouth.

When she crawled into bed, it was Gold's face, screwed up in hate and anger, that she couldn't block out. Sleep had been hard to come by that night and she had woken up several times from nightmares where she couldn't get away from Keith, where Gold had turned in his bloodlust on her, where she had been running and couldn't escape, chased down, hunted like an animal.

Ruby called at exactly 8:00am that morning and though the phone ringing set her teeth on edge, Belle grabbed it and picked it up. It could have been Gold, she knew, but somehow she didn't think he'd bother to call. She had _seen_ the look on his face when she left him last night, the way his eyes had shuttered and looked almost dead.

She had left him there to clean up whatever mess he had made.

It was unfair.

She knew it was.                                                           

He had saved her and she shouldn't forget that. But it was not easy to when she had also seen the bloodlust behind it all.

"Belle, you there?" Ruby sounded worried.

"What? Yeah…sorry. Just thinking I guess." Thinking about what to do, about where to go from there.

"Why don't you come down to the diner for breakfast? My treat."

Belle nodded, then realized that Ruby couldn't see the small head movement. "Right. Ok. I can do that. Just…give me a little bit?"

"Sure thing." She paused there but didn't hang up the phone. "I just wanted to make sure you're ok. After…things."

Belle sighed. "I'm fine. I think. I'll see you down at the diner in a bit."

Was she fine? Belle couldn't be certain. But she got herself together, took another shower, dried her hair as best she could, and got dressed in the clothes Ruby had left for her. They were warm, comfortable, a bit large on her, but Ruby was a head taller than Belle’s rather diminutive height. She even did her makeup before trekking down to the diner. It was her armor against the world. She didn't look like the girl who did chores on Gold's farm. She looked Belle French.

And today she would put on a smile that told the world they could mind their own damned business.

Of course, that crumbled as soon as she saw Ruby behind the counter and Ariel sitting at one of the stools. "Belle!" Ariel cried out and rushed to her, enveloping her in a hug. "Ruby told me what happened.”

Belle glanced at Ruby for a moment. "All of it?"

"Most," she responded with.

"I'm so sorry I abandoned you guys."

"No," Belle said, holding up a hand. "Never apologize for going after what, or _who_ you want."

Ariel gave her a slightly watery smile. "Eric _was_ great."

"Then good. I'm glad for you." Belle reached a hand out, squeezed Ariel's. "Honestly."

"Do you need anything today?" Ariel asked and thank God for people like her. She was sweet and kind and guileless. She would probably take the whole day off from the library if Belle asked her to. Which was exactly why she couldn't ask her.

"No…really. Thank you. I think I'll go visit my father." She had been told he was doing fairly well and a visit would be in order. It seemed there were less of those days than not lately. And her father was a proud man. He didn't want her to see him when he was brought low, when he was just a shell of himself.

She had promised.

No visits on bad days. She could talk to him on the phone, listen to his tired voice and hear the report from the nurses. But he would _not_ have her see him like that no matter how many times she begged.

"You're coming back here afterward?" Ruby's question almost sounded more like a statement.

"I think so, yes." Her stuff was still up at Gold's. She really didn't know how to deal with that. "I need to get my stuff."

"I'll send David," Ruby responded with and Belle just nodded. Did she really _want_ to move out of Gold's? Back to the inn? Try to find some other employment?

She really wasn't sure yet. There was so much to think about, so many thoughts swirling around in her mind. Of the Gold she thought she knew. Of the Gold she had seen the night before. She didn't think he would harm her, but the fact that he would have killed a man, no matter how truly awful that man _was_ , gave her pause.

She had a lot of decisions to make.

And she wasn't quite sure she was ready to make them.

* * *

"Papa." Belle rushed into the room and reached out, squeezed his hand. Her father had been a large man in his prime, taller than Belle by almost a foot and larger than life. She always remembered that about him. When she had been a small child, motherless and feeling awfully alone, her father had seemed massive. And when he laughed, everyone laughed with him. He was jovial and kind.

His hand in hers felt frail, but he still managed to squeeze hers with some bit of strength. "My Belle." His voice was a little hoarse and she smiled, tried to hide the tears that always pricked at the back of her eyes when she visited.

"The nurses say you're feeling better today."

"So I am, my dear. So I am." His eyes closed for a moment and then he managed to focus on her.

"Good. I'm so glad." She finally released his hand to touch the side of his face lightly. "I don't know what I'd do without you Papa."

"You’d do plenty, my Belle. You'd get out of here and get on with your life." He coughed once, twice, and then took a deep breath. "Maybe you'd be better off…"

"Don't talk like that." She didn't mean to snap at him, to cut him off like that, but she didn't want the conversation to go there. She knew she was losing him. Little by little. There was only so many treatments they could do, only so many experiments and new drugs. He had held on this long, months longer than most with his type of cancer, but she still knew it was only a matter of time before she had to say goodbye.

She was sure she'd never be ready for that.

She'd be alone then, truly alone. Her mother had died when she was just a child. She had no siblings. Distant relatives still lived in Australia and she had had little contact with them over the years. In a new place with friends who she was only getting to know and a…well…whatever exactly Gold was to her…boss?...teacher?...maybe something more, though that might be getting a bit ahead of herself.

"Then let's talk about you, my dear." And there was a bit of the jovial father she knew so well in his voice.

"I'm making friends." She knew her father worried about that. Belle was rather introverted and had spent much of her time growing up and throughout college with her books. She was much like her mother that way, he had told her, always wrapped up in a story and forgetting about the world around her. Her father was the opposite. Gregarious and extroverted, he had always enjoyed being around people, gathering strength from them instead of finding them exhausting.

"Good. That's good. And your job?"

She bit her lip and looked away from him. "I fear I may have lost that." She couldn't imagine Gold wanting her back at this point. And to be honest, she wasn't sure if _she_ wanted to go back right now.

Her father was silent for a time and when he finally spoke his voice sounded tight. "I've heard things about him, Belle." Her head shot up. "The nurses, they say things."

Belle sighed. "He's not as bad as all that."

"No?"

"No. I think they've created stories about him because he sits up on his hill and rarely interacts with anyone."

"So he's not a right bastard then?"

Belle let out a small laugh. "Oh no, he is. Or he can be at times. But he can also be really kind." She was going to put the word gentle in there, but then the image of him wielding his cane as a weapon, of his pummeling a man halfway to death, came into her mind and she choked the word down. He _had_ been gentle with her, with the dogs.

But then there was last night. And all that entailed.

"Papa, I'm afraid something awful has happened." She felt the tears starting to choke her voice as she leaned over and touched his hand.

"You didn't fall in love with him, did you?"

"What? No." No, she didn’t love him. She liked him. And she was attracted to him. And she still couldn't stop thinking about that kiss. But love? She wasn't even sure she knew what love _was_ at this point. "I went to a bar last night…"

She hadn't planned to do it. She was going to remain cheerful and upbeat and not do anything to bring her father down. He didn't _need_ to be brought down. But she couldn’t stop herself. She watched his jaw clench when she told him about Keith's attack in the alleyway. She saw him consider speaking when she told him about Gold's arrival, like some sort of dark angel with a cane.

"Sounds to me like he saved you, my girl," her father pointed out.

"But at what cost? He beat that man nearly to death, Papa. And worst of all I don't even know what became of him. I left. For all I know he died in that alley with Gold standing over him, gloating." That was, perhaps, the truth of it. She hadn't cared about Keith, not really. He was a disgusting excuse for a human being and when she left, she hadn't really cared if he lived or died.

It was because Gold had inflicted those injuries. And she didn't even know how. He was a head shorter than the man, probably weighed a good eighty pounds less than him and still he was so fierce that he had taken him out in no time. The thought of watching a man's life drain from him made her want to vomit.

"Are you afraid of him?"

Her father always _could_ get to the heart of things. "I don't know."

He nodded. "I think that’s something you need to figure out."

* * *

Belle didn't return to the diner after her visit with her father. There was much to think about. Too much, really. Her father had hit a sore spot right there. _Was_ she afraid of Gold? She didn't think so. She honestly didn't think he would hurt her.

He hadn't, after all, when she had broken his cup or when she had fallen from the ladder and injured him. He hadn't when she had made mistakes with Bandit. He hadn't ever really seemed to be angry with her. Just amused and exasperated. Even at his grumpiest, recently injured and back from the hospital, looped up on painkillers, he hadn't done much more than snap at her.

Not even when she hid his whisky, which she had finally given back to him when she got him to show her the empty pain medication bottle and the words "NO REFILL" written at the bottom.

Oh, he had been annoyed. But he had done nothing more than complain and shoot her dark looks. Both of which she easily handled with a smile and a comment shot back his way.

She didn't even know how long she had walked before she found herself standing in front of the town hall. The sheriff had his office there and she realized she wanted to know. Was the man locked up? Still loose? Or was he dead?

Bracing herself, she opened the door and found her way into the office. There were only two cells there, hidden somewhere in the back and while she could see _someone_ in there, she wasn't sure who it was.

"Can I help you?" The voice that came to her ears had a certain lilt to it, similar to Gold's and yet different. She turned to find a man studying her, the badge on his jacket proclaiming him sheriff.

"Irish?" she asked, realizing she recognized the accent.

"Sheriff Graham, at your service, Miss…"

"French. Belle French. I'm new to town."

"And from as far away as I am, it seems," he said and his smile was a good natured one. He had the kind of face that one trusted almost instantly. Handsome, but not in a pretentious way. Down to earth and natural.

"Australia. But that's not why I'm here." She didn't even know where to start. _Gee, you don't have a man here who was beaten half to death last night, do you?_

"Yes?" Kind and patient, apparently. Belle found herself smiling at him.

"Last night there was an…altercation…outside The Rabbit Hole…" Her voice trailed off as she saw recognition on her face.

"Yes." He said no more.

"There was a man…Keith, he said his name was. He assaulted me."

"He assaulted you?" He sounded slightly incredulous.

"Yes."

"Were you the one who…"

"No," she said quickly. "He tried…" She closed her eyes, took a deep breath. "He tried to rape me. Someone saved me."

Graham held up a hand and picked up a notepad. "Do you need to make a statement?"

"Can you tell me if he's ok?"

Graham's eyebrows furrowed. "Your savior?"

She shook her head. "My assailant."

"Just what exactly happened last night, Miss French?"

Belle sighed. "Is this on the record?" This wasn't what she wanted. She didn't want to get involved in an investigation. She just wanted to know if he was alive.

"It doesn't have to be…" His voice trailed off.

"But you want it to be." It was a statement, not a question.

"He tried to rape you, Miss. In all honesty, _yes_ this should be on the record."

She took a deep breath and nodded. The words came out in a rush, a half told story of an attempted rape and the beating that followed. Her departure. She left out how scared she was. Not only of Keith, though that should be obvious, but also of Gold and the black rage he had fallen into.

"Who was this savior?"

"I can't tell you."

"We'll be able to get the video," Graham pointed out.

"Gold," she said quietly.

"Mr. Gold from up on the hill?" He sounded surprised and there was that much to keep her buoyed at least. She fully expected everyone she met to not be shocked at all.

"The same. I work for him, you see. And I have no idea why he was there." Why _was_ he there anyway? That question had never been answered. Hell, it had never even been _posed_. He had simply appeared out of thin air and taken care of the problem. "But there he was and he stopped him, but then…" She didn't want to go on, didn't want to detail the vicious beating he had delivered to the man.

"That's pretty impressive," Graham said and Belle just stared at him. "Well, Gold's a pretty small guy. And Nottingham is not."

"Nottingham? That's his last name?" She didn't know. She didn’t know if she _wanted_ to know. "What happened to him?"

"He's alive." Graham hooked a thumb over his shoulder to the lump of man sleeping on the cot in one of the cells. Belle felt the breath go out of her at finding out he was alive, that Gold hadn't done that serious of damage to him. "He had a couple broken bones. A lot of bruises. The hospital fixed him up and he was brought back here."

"You arrested him."

"David Nolan made a report."

"David?" She hadn't seen any sign of the man that night. But her brain was fuzzy, tipsy with alcohol and half frozen with fear. She might have walked right past him without realizing it.

He nodded. "I couldn't quite figure out his involvement before. He said he saw the end of the attack, saw him collapse. And so he called it in."

But he had brought Gold there, she realized. She didn't know how or why, but David had been the one to bring Gold to her and Gold had been the one to save her. The night was still such a blur that she couldn’t even put the pieces of the puzzle together.

"Thank you," she finally managed to say. "I just needed to make sure."

"We'll contact you if we need you for anything further."

She nodded. "I'm staying at the inn."

With those words she took leave of Graham and the sheriff's office. She had more questions than answers it seemed, but she had at least nailed the answer to _one_ question down. No, she was not afraid of him.

But there were still many more to answer and many decisions to be made, decisions she didn't feel like she could even begin to tackle before she had a meal and a hot shower.


	15. Chapter 15

This was not something David Nolan wanted to do. In fact, it was probably the last thing on the planet he wanted to do, somewhere behind eating crickets and bungee jumping. But he had promised Ruby he would do it and his wife had just given him a look and so here he was.

He knocked on the door and then tried the handle. It slid open easily. Sticking his head inside the door, he shouted Gold's name.

There was no response and so he stepped inside. He hated leaving the man last night. But after the disaster outside The Rabbit Hole, he had had no choice. Gold had simply disappeared sometime between David's calling for an ambulance and the paramedic's arrival. He had turned around and he had simply been gone, as if she hadn't been there at all. And that scared him. The look on his face, the tightness, the dark eyes, and the blood on his cane all spoke of a sort of rage that even _he_ wasn't aware Gold was capable of.

He had protected Belle. He had saved her. That much he was thankful for. But the man he had attacked had been incapacitated and the sort of blind rage that must have accompanied the attack had to have been horrible to behold. When the paramedics got the man up and onto a stretcher, David realized the man was large, bigger than he was even, and built like a football player. He probably weighed 250 pounds. And somehow _Gold_ had taken him down. He had heard of people doing amazing feats of strength when their lives were threatened, but never like _this_. That sort of rage didn’t come out of nowhere.

It spoke really to only one thing and he was sure that Gold wasn't ready to face that just yet.

Treading carefully, David made his way first to the living room and let out a gasp as he stood in the doorway to the room. Almost nothing was left untouched. The cabinets had all been smashed, the glass taking the brunt of it but the wood was splintered in places. The china was scattered across the ground, shattered. The piano in the corner had a few dents in it and a couple of the keys had been smashed in. The chair was overturned, the television knocked off its stand and the screen cracked. Papers were scattered everywhere, some torn in half, some crumpled. He could see things tossed on the fire, charred beyond recognition.

There was no sign of Gold in the midst of it and David started to worry that something had happened to him. He knew that Keith, the man who attacked Belle, had been taken into custody. He had made sure of that much. But there was nothing to say the man couldn’t have ordered some sort of retaliation from the hospital or jail.

"Gold?" he said again and was rewarded with nothing but silence and the broken sounds of a clock that still kept ticking even though the face was smashed in.

Picking his way out of the disaster in the living room he made his way to the kitchen and turned on the light. The room hadn't fared much better, with broken pieces of pottery scattered across the floor.

And there, sitting in the middle of the mess, was Gold. He was sprawled on the ground, leaning against the cabinets. When he glanced up at David, his eyes were bloodshot.

"What the hell happened to you?" David stepped closer and held out a hand to help the other man to his feet.

"She's gone, you know," was Gold's response. He didn't take David's hand and so he dropped it uselessly to his side.

"She's staying at the inn. Ruby asked me to get her things."

"Ah, so she's gone for good then, is she?" He gripped the object he was holding in his hands tighter and spun it around a couple times. "Good." A pause. He glanced down at the object and David realized it was a teacup, a broken one, one piece missing out of the side. As he watched, Gold's thumb kept coming to rest in that spot, caressing it, moving the cup, coming back to caress it again, constant motion. "Good then. I didn't need her around anyway."

"No?"

"No," Gold said and jabbed a finger in the air toward David. "This is all your fault."

"That you fell in love with her?"

Gold's eyes met his then, dark, almost black. "I am _not_ in love with her."

He didn't grace that one with a proper response. He knew the truth. Anyone with two eyes and a heart did. "Did you do this?" he asked instead.

"Yes."

David made a slight scoffing noise and held out his hand again. "Oh, you're in love with her alright." Gold glared at the proffered hand. "Just take it. How long have you been sitting there anyway?"

"I have no bloody idea." Probably since the night before, David guessed. Gold did at least finally take his hand and allow him to draw him to his feet, at least.

"Where's your cane?"

"My _weapon_ you mean?" There was a bit of the sarcasm back, but there was no humor behind it. Just bite and anger and a pain that made even David Nolan's emotions feel raw. "Just help me into the other room."

"I don't think you left any room untouched."

"Hers is," he said quickly, too quickly. David watched him wince when the words came out. "My bedroom is fine," he added with a small wave of his hand.

"You're not making it to your bedroom like this." Instead, he helped Gold back into the living room, kicking scattered debris out of their way as they went. "Dammit, man," David said, taking another look around the room. Now that he knew Gold was ok, or at least as ok as he could be, he could really contemplate _why_ he had done it.

He wouldn't tell him, of course. That much David knew. But he could see it in the rather methodical way his anger had torn apart the room. Only one thing seemed untouched and David reached to touch the cup that Gold still held protectively in one hand.

Gold snarled at him, an incoherent sound that made David back up as Gold pulled the cup away from him. "The cup?"

"She broke it," Gold said, his voice quiet and subdued, the anger leeching out of him as he held onto it. "On her first day here. She…I don't know. I think she thought I would throw her out."

"You didn't."

Gold made a slight choking noise in the back of his throat. "No," he finally said.

The two were silent for a time. David didn't know what else to say. Gold's denial of any feelings, his anger that seemed more directed inward than not. "He's going to live," David finally said.

"Who?"

"That guy…"

"Oh. Well, I suppose that's good," Gold said with a small wave of his hand. "He doesn't deserve to," he added.

"What exactly happened there?" David had been left to pick up the pieces, left to explain to the paramedics. When he went searching for Gold to get some sort of explanation for what had happened he was gone, disappeared into the night. He didn't even know how he got home. He had still been in a bit of a daze when David had found him, breathing hard, cane held tight in his hand. He should have made sure he remained, should have made sure he was alright. "You said he attacked her…" His voice trailed off.

Gold shook his head, looked like he was trying to clear his mind. "I only heard the tail end."

"But…"

"Attempted rape, Mr. Nolan. The man attempted to _rape_ her." He hissed the last at him and David let out a few curse words, words that he hadn't said in a long time.

"He didn't…"

"Get very far? No. I stopped it before anything truly heinous happened." His voice was flat, unemotional, but David could see what was simmering just below the surface, the rage behind his dark eyes.

"That's why you…"

"Yes," he cut him off with.

"You're going to need to make a statement."

"I have no doubt of that, Mr. Nolan." Gold sounded tired, desperately so.

"Well, good then…" Silence again and he wasn't quite sure what to do about it.

"Second door on the left," Gold said and David blinked. _What_ … "Her room."

"Oh."

"You _were_ here for her things, weren't you?" He gave him a pointed look and David sighed.

"I guess this discussion is done?"

Gold didn't bother to meet his eyes, just waved a hand at him. With another sigh, David went upstairs and gathered up everything of Belle's he could find. When he came back down, Gold was exactly where he left him, still slumped in the recliner, eyes still glazed. He still held that cup in his hands and was twisting it around, fingers running across the surface, thumbs hitching over the side.

A cup.

One single cup that had survived his madness.

"I'll just…see myself out?"

Gold's eyes met his briefly then slid away. "Of course."

David nodded and stepped away.

"Mr. Nolan?"

David turned quickly. "Yes?"

There was a moment of silence, tense, fraught with emotions even David didn't entirely understand. "Nevermind," Gold finally said and he watched as the man seemed to curl inward just a bit.

"I'll tell her you miss her," David responded with and then was gone before Gold could say another word.

* * *

Six days. It had been six rather long days since she had walked away, left Gold in that alleyway. And Belle _still_ didn't have any damned idea what she was going to do about it all. She had gone down to the station again, made her official statement. The man who attacked her was still locked up and she got at least a decent look at him before Graham escorted her into another room. He looked like he had been hit by a bus and she wasn't quite sure how Gold had managed it. She couldn't reconcile the man who could do such serious damage with the quiet, sarcastic shepherd she had been getting to know.

It was a new side of him.

Or maybe a side that was always there, another layer she had peeled back unintentionally.

Her father had asked her if she were afraid of him. The answer was most certainly a definite no. He wouldn't harm her. That much she was sure of. He had saved her, come to her rescue and kept anything worse from happening. She was grateful for that much at least.

But at the same time she couldn't get the image out of her mind, couldn’t help but see the black rage that overcame him. She shuddered at the thought. He had saved her. But what had that cost them? Their friendship, their budding…well, whatever it was that was going on between them? She couldn't deny that she found him attractive, but what else was there lurking beneath the surface she was still so very unsure of.

That kiss in the library had _been_ something, a promise of something more, something grand. She hadn't felt like that in, well, she had _never_ felt like that. For a moment they had had such a perfect connection.

And then he had run.

And they had never gotten a chance to talk about what that meant.

She had been living above the diner, just as she did the first weeks in Storybrooke. After finding out what happened to her, after what Gold did, Granny had offered her the place to stay for free while she figured out what she wanted to do. _I always knew he was bad news_ , she had told her. But he wasn't, not really. He had saved her from a horrible fate and she couldn't easily forget that. If he had simply _stopped there_ he would have been her knight in shining armor.

"Is this seat taken?"

Belle's head shot up, her reverie cut short. "Mary Margaret!" She had barely seen the woman since the birth of her daughter. David said it was "Mommy and baby bonding time" and Belle was happy enough to allow her that time. She had no children of her own, but she knew how special they were, especially the first when everything was still so new and a little bit frightening. "You look well," she said as the other woman sat down, pulling the baby carriage with Emma close to the table.

Mary Margaret smiled, but then frowned slightly as she watched Belle. "I wish I could say the same for you."

Belle gave a rather wan smile. "I haven't been sleeping well." It was a huge understatement really. Every time she tried to sleep, the feel of Keith's lips on hers, the fear, the look in Gold's eyes as he took him down, interrupted it. She felt like she had barely slept at all since night of the attack.

"He'll be brought to justice." Belle was thankful for everyone's certainty in that. With there being witnesses, witnesses no one would want to cross like Gold, the chances of Keith walking free without any punishment was rather slim.

"I know." Though she also knew the statistics. He'd be let out in no time and would he be angry? Go after her again? Retaliate in some way? She hoped that Gold had sufficiently scared him enough to stay away but one never knew.

"David’s been up to see Gold," Mary Margaret said and Belle suspected this was where she really wanted the conversation to go.

Belle closed her eyes for a moment. She was glad that he had David, that he wasn’t completely alone while she tried to figure her own mind out.

"Are you really not going back to him?" If Mary Margaret didn't sound so concerned, Belle might have been annoyed at the nosey question. But she _did_ sound concerned and when she met her eyes, they were soft, a little crinkle between her brows.

Belle shook her head, looked down at her tea long gone cold. "I don't know," she finally answered honestly. Could she go back to him? _Should_ she? That was the question that kept going around and around inside her mind.

"He misses you," Mary Margaret said after a moment.

"He does?" The other woman nodded and Belle's eyes narrowed slightly. "I thought you wanted me nowhere near him." She let the words hang and watched Mary Margaret's cheeks redden a little.

"I might have been too tough on him?" she offered.

"Really?"

Mary Margaret heaved a sigh. "Well, maybe just a little bit," she amended.

Belle tried to smile, though there was an ache to her cheeks, as if the gesture was not familiar anymore. She had spent so much time frowning, crying, worrying, that the muscles had come to expect that in the past few days. "Does he really miss me?"

Mary Margaret reached out and touched her hand, just that one small gesture of compassion. She hadn't gotten to know her, not all that well at least. She knew David better at this point, but what she knew of Mary Margaret through him and from what she had seen, the woman had a huge heart, capable of bringing almost anyone into it. "David said he's wallowing in despair."

Really, Belle should not be surprised to find out that someone who could have such a dark and intense rage could have equally dark and intense despair. Gold didn't do things in halves, that much she had figured out about him. "Still?" Belle asked.

"He was up there earlier and said it's quite a sight to behold. He wouldn't give me details. Just that…I guess he thinks you should go see him." Her voice trailed off at the end and Mary Margaret looked away from her, occupying herself with adjusting baby Emma's wrap.

"I should." Belle realized she didn't phrase it like it was a question. Because she knew. She _knew_. She couldn't just walk away from everything they were building. Not without some sort of discussion, confrontation, whatever. "Why are you pushing me to go back?"

Mary Margaret gave a little shrug, still not quite meeting Belle's eyes. "David wanted me to."

"But you don't?"

"I don't know. Gold's a difficult man. But I suppose he's not all bad." It was the best explanation Belle suspected that Mary Margaret could come up with for Gold. He was the town monster and yet wasn't. She could see the man behind that façade though, had gotten to know _him_ little by little. He had allowed her in, had kissed her and the passion behind that kiss had been telling.

He had _saved_ her, swooped into the alley like an avenging angel and taken her attacker out with several swings of his cane. He could have been hurt, killed even. Her attacker had been much larger than Gold, but it hadn't mattered. He had the upper hand from the moment he stepped into the alleyway.

And she had run.

"He's right," Belle finally said.

"Who is?" Mary Margaret looked up from tending to Emma.

"David. I need to go see Gold."

"Are you sure?"

"Now you're going to backtrack?" Belle asked and she couldn't help the bite of the words.

"Sorry," Mary Margaret mumbled. "Old habits die hard."

"I'm sorry," Belle said with a slight smile. "I know what you think of him. But I appreciate your coming here on David's behalf." She leaned over and put her hand over Mary Margaret's. "Truly."

Mary Margaret squeezed her hand briefly and then stood. "Belle?" She paused and Belle waited for her to continue. "Just…don't hesitate to call us if you need something. _Anything_."

And then she was gone and Belle was left watching her rush out of the diner, pushing her stroller out the door and around the corner before she could even really think of a response. Mary Margaret was a good woman. But she didn't know Gold. David did, at least to some degree. She supposed he knew Gold as well as Gold would allow him to. If he felt she should go back, at least talk to him, then he was probably right.

Gold had, after all, told her once that David was the closest thing to a friend. _Oh don't misunderstand dearie. I didn't say he_ is _a friend, just that he's the closest to one_. Belle interpreted that as a round-about way of saying David was his closest friend. The man could deny it all he wanted, but he _always_ let David into the house. In fact, David often entered without even knocking these days, knowing that Gold found it more difficult to get to the door than he used to. It wasn't unusual for David to simply step in the door and call out to them before rounding the corner and entering the living room or kitchen.

Gold would snark at him. _Does this look like an open house, Mr. Nolan?_ But he always offered him a seat, something to drink or eat.

And David always seemed to think highly of Gold, though she rarely saw him showing that side of himself in front of the older man. No, instead he would say things to Belle, that he was in awe of how Gold ran his farm, that the older man had taken him a bit under his wing when he first arrived on the outskirts of town, that he had always been there for him even if "being there" meant sarcasm, rudeness, and aloofness.

He was less aloof these days and Belle wondered if it were the pain talking or if her presence had something to do with that.

She realized she had to find out.

She had to finish whatever this thing was that they had started.

And she needed to find out just what had caused that blind rage, that near-panic she had seen cross his face when he realized exactly what was happening to her.

She had to return. It really was as simple as that.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the rating change! Due to a future chapter, I have opted to raise the rating to "Explicit."

It took her another day to get up the nerve to return. Ruby had tried to talk her out of it. Granny had been giving her dark looks ever since she expressed the desire to return to him and had renewed her offer of working in the diner. They didn’t know him, really. They only knew the rumors and dark half-truths whispered about him. He never gave them anything else to go on, staying up on his little hill and rarely interacting with the townspeople. Reclusiveness like that was the kind of thing that fueled gossip.

Ariel, at least, had been at least somewhat understanding, though she did question her extensively.

All were worried for her safety. She had had at least three conversations about who to call, where to go if he threatened her. But she knew he wouldn't, had no doubt of it. His rage had been because of what happened _to_ her. But harm her? She couldn't see it ever happening. He was firm, sharp with her sometimes, but his reaction to his anger was often to close himself off until it passed. She had no idea that he was capable of such rage and she didn’t know a cane could become such a weapon in anyone’s hands.

She didn’t know because there was no way for her _to_ know. She had never seen that side of him and hopefully never would again. Staying away from that dive bar would probably go a long way toward preventing such a thing from happening again.

When she arrived at the house, all seemed quiet. There was no sign of Gold near the barn and so she headed toward the house. Quiet, carefully. She wasn’t sure what state he’d be in. If he’d even _want_ to see her, if he would take her back. Her key was out and in the door before she could think and so she hesitated, knocked once before opening the door.

“Gold?” She waited a moment. There was no response to her voice. No Gold. No Taz. No Bandit. She wondered what had become of the dog she had begun to think of as _hers_ in the time she’d been away. She hoped that Gold allowed her in the house still, did not house her in the barn with the rest of the dogs. It wasn’t that they weren’t taken care of out there. Quite the contrary, she had never seen quite such a set-up for dogs before. But Bandit was used to sleeping in her room, on her bed.

There was no response and so she strode down the hall, stuck her head in the living room. The lights were low and while she couldn't see much she could see that Gold wasn’t in his chair. The room looked a fright though and she wondered how he had been getting along without her presence. She could see some things scattered about the floor and realized she'd have her work cut out for her cleaning up after him. She never quite imagined him as messy but perhaps he was hurting more than she had thought, more than he would likely ever admit.

Shaking her head, she called out for Gold twice more before deciding that he must be in the barn or out on the field. His truck was there so he couldn't have gone far. She was heading to the barn when she heard a whistle and ducked around it. Gold was in his usual spot at the base of the hill, the sheep far up it with Taz behind them. Bandit was there and she was relieved to see her dog out and about. Though she wasn’t currently working the sheep and was, instead, rolling in _something_ that meant Belle would have to bathe her before she was allowed to take up residence in the house again, she seemed happy and whole.

Gold was leaning heavily on his cane and she noticed that his back was slightly slumped. It was odd seeing him that way. He usually stood ramrod straight, even when in pain. It was just part of his nature, she figured. He was formal without being dressed to the nines every day, unfailingly polite while still retaining some sarcasm and a bit of snark behind the words. He was cold and aloof and yet she had been breaking through that mask of indifference he wore so often and so well.

When she got near him, he turned suddenly and she wondered how long he had known she was there. Did he hear her arrival? Hear her calling for him? Or was he just especially in tune with everything on his farm?

Bandit saw her arrival too and ran to her with her tongue lolling out, the smell of sheep manure wafting off of her. Belle scratched her behind the ear and released her with a soft “That’ll do.” Bandit happily loped off to continue hunting for more things to roll in.

She watched Gold, waited for a sneering remark.

She waited for him to tell her to get lost, that he no longer needed her, no longer wanted her. David Nolan had been helping out and she was sure the other man could find Gold another person to help around the farm.

But Gold did neither. He looked her up and down and a small, strange smile flitted across his face before disappearing entirely. "Have I ever told you how I came to have my first sheepdog, Miss French?"

She blinked once. Twice. “Um…no. I guess you haven’t.”

He waved her closer and she stepped carefully to stand at his side. He didn’t look at her as he spoke, staring out at the sheep and occasionally using his whistle to give Taz a command. “I was twelve at the time. Just a wee lad. My aunts…”

“The ones who taught you to spin?”

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Are you going to let me tell this story?”

She gave him a slight smile. “Of course.”

“Good then,” he said and there was no animosity behind the words. “My aunts had always kept sheep. We needed it for the spinning we did. They were self-sufficient tough old ladies.” He said the last with a fond smile that Belle couldn’t help but respond with her own smile. “We only had a few sheeep back then and so there was no need for a dog. They expanded the flock little by little until we had about 15 of the animals. Watching them race around trying to get them all into the barn was as much entertainment as I got in those days. We didn’t have a television, mind.”

“Really?”

"Really."

"It was invented then though, wasn't it?" She tried to keep her voice sounding innocent and was pleased with the look he shot her.

"Just how old do you think I am anyway, Miss French?" The words were growled at her but she knew that there was no real animosity behind them.

She smirked as she looked away. "I don't know. 70?"

"For that I ought to…" He cut the words off and Belle realized she wanted to move closer, wanted to say _something_ naughty. Her time away had done nothing to lessen the attraction she felt for him, did nothing to stop her from remembering the kiss they had shared. She was fairly certain, rather, that it amplified it all. She could not stop thinking about that moment and wanted to see if it was as magical a second time around as it was the first.

"You ought to?"

"Oh nevermind," he said and waved a hand rather impatiently in the air. "It seems you don't want this story after all."

"Oh but I do." She moved just slightly closer, took a deep breath, and put her hand on his arm. Briefly at least. When he pulled away as soon as she touched him she retreated. "I really do," she reiterated and if the words sounded slightly sad, she hoped he wouldn't notice.

He gave her a tight smile. "Then stop interrupting." There was no bite to the words and so she smiled.

"Of course. Carry on then."

He gave her a look, unreadable at best, and whistled for Taz to retrieve the sheep. "Come, walk with me Miss French." They turned to leave the field, Taz bringing the sheep down behind them. Gold would turn every once in awhile and issue a quick whistle, but there was little he had to do. It was a job Taz was well acquainted with and he barely needed any instruction to carry it out.

"One day my Aunt Eithne comes home. She was the older of the two, mind you, tougher than any of the old farmhands around these parts. Nolan would quake in his boots if he met her." There was a fond smile on his face as he spoke of the woman. He broke off for a moment and let Taz lead the sheep into the barn. When he had closed up he turned back toward her, he waved a hand and indicated she should continue with him to the house.

"So your Aunt Eithne?" she prompted as they stepped inside.

"She walks into the house and dumps this puppy in my lap. Just, 'Here Tavish. Go train him.' That's all. Nothing more. Just 'Go train the bleedin' dog Tavish. He's your responsibility. Now scram.'" The way he changed his voice, thickened the accent, raised the pitch, was as humorous as it was strangely attractive.

"Is that an accurate imitation?"

He laughed slightly. "Hardly."

She stepped ahead of him into the living room, smile on her face, and stopped short as light flooded the room. "My God!" Harsher words almost came out of her mouth but she managed to clamp down on those. The place was simply _ransacked_. Someone had clearly gone through it, looking for something, tearing everything apart. It seemed like nothing in the room was untouched, tables overturned and cabinets smashed.

"Ah yes," Gold said behind her and she whirled around quickly to look at him. "I apologize for the mess."

"For the…" She looked from him back to the room in question as he stepped around her. "Did you report this?"

He picked his way carefully through the rubble, almost as if he knew exactly where to step.

And he did.

There was a path cleared in the middle that led directly to his recliner. Where there was a newspaper and a teacup, the one with the chip out of it, the one that _she_ had chipped. And she just watched as he rather nonchalantly sat down in his recliner. "Do be careful," he murmured, waving his hand at the mess around them.

She could think of nothing else to do than stare at him. And when he finally looked up at her, met her eyes, there was this moment, a fleeting moment of consternation that went across the planes of his face. It was gone so quickly, his familiar mask settling back in, that she almost could have imagined it. But she knew.

She _knew_.

"You did this." And she didn't even phrase it as a question. She stared at him, waited for a response. None seemed to be forthcoming. He simply looked away from her, picked at imaginary lint on his shirt, refused to meet her eyes. " _You did this_." The words were accusatory this time, slightly angry. He destroyed everything in some fit of pique, in anger and rage. The same sort of rage she had seen out of him the night he had beaten Nottingham half to death.

An uncomfortable silence settled on them. Gold in his chair, Belle still standing just inside the entrance to the room. There was a clock ticking somewhere, the sound of at least one mechanical thing that hadn't met the end of his cane.

"Why?" she finally asked. He looked up at her then and there was a darkness to his red-rimmed eyes. She hadn't noticed that before. The dark circles, the red rims around his eyes. "You haven't been sleeping."

"That is true," he finally managed to say. The words were careful and his eyes continuously met hers and then flitted away.

"I haven't been sleeping either," she admitted.

"You're frightened of me."

"No," she said quickly. "No I'm not. It's just… _Tavish_..." And he gave her that look that said _stop calling me that infernal name_. "What have you done here?"

"It seems that should be rather obvious." The words had a sardonic twist, his lips quirking up in a sad smile.

"But why?" She kneeled down near him, put her hand on his knee and was dismayed when he pulled away with a slight hissing noise.

"That is my own business, Miss French." The words spoken on a sneer and so she released him, got to her feet, found another place to sit. There was a spot on the couch that had been cleared off and she was certain that David had been there before her, had spoken to him.

"But…"

"Did you or did you not want the story of my first dog?" He sounded tired.

Belle sighed. "I did."

"But not anymore," he surmised.

"I still do," she insisted. But right that moment? No. No she didn't want to hear about his dog, about his childhood. She wanted to know what was going on _now_. Because something was. A person doesn't just destroy his own home without a reason. "Was this because of me?"

"I don't wish to talk about it," he groused.

" _Gold_." She knew she was pushing her luck and when he simply looked away from her, lips tightly shut and his hand clenching around the cane that he was still holding onto, she knew. "Fine then," she said with a slight huff and stood. "I'm going to bed."

"So you're staying."

"I am."

She was surprised to see him let out a relieved sigh and actually smile. "Good," he finally said. "Good then. Perhaps you can hear the story tomorrow?" And there was a slight hopeful sound to his voice.

"Perhaps," she answered with.

She retreated then, fetching her small bags out of the car and making her way to her room. She _needed_ to talk to him about this, about whatever had happened, about his swooping in to save her. But he was in no mood for talking and seeing him as she passed him by on the way upstairs, she could tell he was already having a drink. There would be no more conversation that night.

It would have to wait for tomorrow.

* * *

He listened to her leave and let out the breath he had been holding. He wanted to say something else, call out to her, but he had no idea what to say, what to do. She saw the truth of things, or at least as much of the truth of things as he understood at that moment. He was sure of that much.

The house _was_ a mess.

He still felt the rage clouding his mind and took a sip of whisky to steady himself. It was always there, just creeping in at the edges of his vision. He had forgotten that, really. In the years since his ex-wife had taken him down verbally time and time again only to divorce him and run off with their son, there had been nothing to be angry _about_. He had burnt it all out, raging against the fates when everything he held dear was taken from him.

Life on the farm had had a sameness since then and only when Baeddan left after his all too brief visits did he feel any of that rage coming back to the surface.

But then Belle.

He didn't even know what brought out such protective instincts when it came to her. Or what the hell had even possessed him to touch her, kiss her. For fuck's sake he almost took her to bed. He wanted to. But her whispered _don't…stop_ …he still didn't know if she wanted him to stop or if she wanted something else but he wasn't about to press the issue and keep trying.

He had walked away.

And he still regretted not stopping and asking. He tried to pretend he didn't. He tried to ignore everything that had happened up until that point, chalked it up to too many nights alone, too much pain medication. It was easier that way. Emotional entanglements had never gotten him anywhere good. They had gotten him pain and an empty house and weekly phone calls from a son who barely knew him these days.

What would getting tangled up with Belle do for him? Right now he had a companion of sorts. Maybe a friend. _Maybe_. He wasn't so sure of that. She had walked off once, been scared of him once, had seen what his rage could do.

He sighed and looked around the room. She had seen the product of his rage more than once nows, the shattered pieces of his life that gave a silent testament to the state of his mind when he had returned from that fateful night. It was everywhere and there was no escaping it. Even if he wanted to. Even if he wanted to crawl into some tiny little hole full of whisky and his regrets and not come out again until Belle French left him for good.

It was safer that way, really.

He only wished he could abide by that. He knew he wouldn't, try though he might. He was drawn to her. Drawn in ways that he couldn't remember ever being drawn to someone before. He wanted to gather her up, carry her off to his bed, make her his.

And that terrified him. He could admit that there, in the quiet of his living room, whisky in hand. If he couldn't admit it there, where could he after all? He was a coward, really, always had been. He'd been one as a child, scared and feeling so alone when he was dumped off with relatives he barely knew. He'd been one when his wife walked out on him, when he didn't fight hard enough to save his son from her. And he was a coward now, when he couldn't face the tiny woman who had taken up residence in his house.

With a heavy heart, far heavier than anyone should bear, he set to putting the downstairs to rights. When she woke up, came downstairs, she'd find nothing out of order. All would be like it always was. They could forget this whole disastrous thing had ever happened.


	17. Chapter 17

The next morning when Belle awoke, she took her time stretching, content and relaxed. Or at least to some degree. She was happy to be back. She was almost sure that Gold was happy to have her back, though he might grumble and act like it was no big deal.

But it was.

She was sure of it.

He had destroyed his place. And there was a reason for that. She couldn't doubt that. The rage that she had seen visited upon Keith in the alleyway had been taken out on his own possessions. All those precious objects that had been squirreled away over God knows how many years now lay in pieces, strewn across the floor.

_Why_ , was the question she still had no answer for.

_Why_ , was the question she wasn't sure she'd ever _get_ an answer for.

Gold was tight-lipped to start with, closed down, keeping everyone out as best he could. She had managed to worm her way in, but only so far. She kept hitting wall after all, pushing through little by little. But this latest incident had caused him to shore up all his defenses. The walls he was hidden behind now seemed even larger, stronger.

And she wasn't sure if she could get through them again. With a sigh she got dressed and made her way downstairs to face the beast in his lair. Sometime they needed to have this out. It might as well be that day.

When she stepped into the living room she found everything had been picked up, set back to rights, the signs that he had ever had such a raging temper were gone. Oh, they were there if someone knew the house well and knew what they were looking for. Belle did. She saw which knick-knacks were gone, saw the way he had carefully arranged the handful that remained to cover up their fallen compatriots. She even saw a few new ones mixed in, likely pulled from his bedroom or another room to make sure the living area looked as cluttered with things as it once did.

But she knew. She saw. She remembered. And it wasn't like he would _expect_ her to forget.

Was it?

She spoke his name softly as she stepped out of the living room and entered the kitchen. He was there, his back to her, standing in front of the stove.

"Ah, there you are Miss French." The words sounded jovial enough and that perhaps should have been taken as the warning she expected it was.

"Belle," she started to say.

"Omelet?"

The word caught her off guard and she blinked once. "Pardon?"

He glanced over his shoulder at her and she was relieved at least to see a small grin playing about the corners of his mouth. "Would you like an omelet?"

She blinked once. Hard. "You don't cook," she pointed out. She had been making all their meals during their time together. Not once had he ever mentioned he even had the ability to cook and yet here he was, standing in front of the stove and looking like quite the natural.

"I can manage to cook up an egg and throw a few things into the pan with it," he pointed out.

"Well, yes. I suppose you can," she murmured, shaking her head and taking a seat at the small kitchen table.

"I did manage before you arrived."

Belle just shook her head. "I don't even know how." She could see his back stiffen and she knew he was bristling at the comment. He was always the prickly sort and so quick to find offense where none was meant. She didn't dare roll her eyes at him. Their relationship, or whatever they had here exactly, was already so strained.

"Well, I did just fine." There was a bite to the words, one she hadn't been expecting. They fell into a sort of uncomfortable silence then, only the sizzling of the pan and the scraping of the spatula interrupting the quiet.

He tossed her omelet on a plate and brought it to her, turning away before she even had a chance to speak. He was back at the pan, making his second one when she finally sighed and couldn't hold back anymore. "Gold?" He didn't respond. "Tavish?"

"I thought I told you not to call me that."

"You did. But it won't stop me." She tried for a light tone but the snarl he answered with told her all she needed to know. "What happened?"

His shoulders tensed and she watched as he gripped the handle of the pan hard. "I do believe the sheep need to be tended to, Miss French."

It was a dismissal. That much was clear. She took a few more bites of her omelet before responding. "That night…" she started with but he cut her off again, turning to glare at her with eyes that blazed with anger and something else, something bitter, something sad.

"Are you going to tend to the sheep or do I need to call Mr. Nolan?" His voice had turned hard as he snapped at her. He still wouldn't look at her, still watched the pan even though she could smell that it was starting to burn.

She watched him for a moment, then finally shook her head and stood. "You really won't talk to me."

He kept his back to her but turned his head slightly. She knew he heard her. She knew he was well aware of what she wanted to talk about, what _they_ needed to talk about. There was so much really, so much they had been avoiding. The kiss, the incident outside The Rabbit Hole, the destruction, the whole damned bloody thing. And instead he just wanted her to go out, tend the sheep and pretend nothing had happened.

"Fine," she finally managed to say and couldn't help the little bit of anger that crept into her voice. He didn't move and so she left him then, tugging on her boots and coat and heading out into the cool spring day to take care of the sheep.

It was her job after all.

And was that all she was to him? Just a farm worker? She knew that wasn't so. If she was, he wouldn't have given her the library, wouldn't have kissed her. If she were _nothing_ to him, he wouldn’t have destroyed his possessions after she left.

But that left her with wondering what exactly she _was_ to him. And maybe even more importantly, what he was to _her_ and that was territory she wasn’t sure she was ready to explore. She was attracted to him. That much she knew. Perhaps that was enough for now. With her father ill and her life in a bit of a turmoil, she couldn't quite imagine her life being entwined with anyone else's. She wasn't _ready_ for it, drawn to the man though she might be.

It was simply _too much_ right now.

And yet she had to know. She _needed_ to know. A small part of her thought that perhaps she _deserved_ to know, if not everything, then at least something. But she didn't think she had any right to a part of him. He kept himself so separate, so closed off. His story about his childhood dog was the closest he got to telling her about himself. She really did want to know the rest of that story. Sometime. When he was ready to go into it again.

She was starting to think that might happen when hell finally did freeze over.

* * *

Belle had gotten everything done in the barn as quickly as possible. It felt _good_ to be back at it, good to be working again. Even though her muscles felt a little strained at the end of it, she still felt good about the work she had put in. And it helped settle her mind a bit, the physical exercise giving her a chance to think and work things out in her mind.

She needed to talk to Gold.

And it wouldn't wait. They had to hash this out if they were going to live together like this. It could not hang over them, making every moment fraught with a tension that threatened to spill over.

She couldn't deal with that.

She shouldn’t _have_ to deal with that.

And so there was simply no other recourse.

She had hoped that Gold would stop by the barn. He usually did, showing up just as she finished her chores and waving her out to the edge of the field, sometimes with nothing more than a crook of his finger, sometimes with a mock bow that looked utterly ridiculous but at the same time she found rather charming.

But this day there was no sign of him when she finished up. Bandit was at her side, ready to go and as she exited the barn the dog started to rush toward the field. "No girl," Belle said and the dog turned back to her. "This way." And she turned toward the house, Bandit rushing to catch up.

He was hiding. She knew that much. Gold wasn’t one to face his demons, even if that demon came in the form of a five-foot-two Australian woman. He was going to today, though. God help her if she couldn’t get the bastard to at least acknowledge that there was something going on between them.

She called his name almost as soon as she walked in the door, releasing Bandit to find her comfortable spot on the couch as she removed her boots.

There was no response. Which didn’t surprise her, really.

She didn’t find him in the living room, nor did she find him in the kitchen. The house was so quiet, no sign of Taz anywhere. So quiet that if she hadn't see his truck out front she might have believed he’d left. But he was there. Somewhere. And she’d ferret him out.

When she got to the upstairs, she could hear music playing from down the hallway. She didn’t go that way often. Her room was to the right, the library she now frequented just past it. His room lay to the left and she hadn’t set eyes on it since her first tour of the house.

But the music wasn’t coming from there.

It was coming from a room to the far end, opposite her library. She had never really noticed the door there, set back into the wall, the dark wood blending in with the equally dark paint of the hallway. But from the light coming from under it and the doorway, she’d guess she found one of those places that Gold tended to hide out when he didn’t want to deal with her.

She knocked lightly on the door and received no response. When she knocked a second time, a little harder, she was rewarded with the music being turned up. With a sigh, she brought her fist to the door and hit it as hard as she could. If it caused her to hiss in pain, well, so be it. It was a price she was willing to pay to get the damned man out there to talk.

When she went to raise her first to the door again, it suddenly swung open. “Miss French.” She could barely hear his voice over the music, but the narrowed eyes, the stiff corners of his mouth told her exactly what his opinion on her disruption was.

“What the hell is that music?” She practically shouted the words as the music swelled to an even louder volume.

“Verdi, Miss French,” he said as he stepped away and turned the volume down just a hair. Not much, certainly not enough to make conversation comfortable. It was a statement, that much was certain. “The _Dies Irae_ from his Requiem Mass. The day of judgment, the day of wrath…” He stopped speaking and his eyes shut for a moment as the music pounded around them.

“You listen to this crap?”

“This _crap_ is some of the best music ever written,” he shot back. “Some of us don’t like all that rock and roll nonsense you folks listen to.”

Belle crossed her arms over her chest. “I prefer Satie.”

“Of course you do,” he said and shook his head. “What do you want? I have work to do.”

“We need to talk.”

“Ah, the words no man ever wants to hear.” As she stepped forward, tried to skirt around him, he held out his cane to stop her. “I believe we have nothing to talk about, Miss French.”

“No?” One eyebrow rose. Was he really going to do this? No, she decided. He was not. No matter how much he wanted to avoid it, she was not letting this go.

“No,” he shot back and tried to turn from her. “Now if you’ll excuse me…”

She reached out a hand and put it on his shoulder. He tensed beneath her grip, froze. “Why did you do it?” She wasn’t even sure what she was asking about here. The kiss, saving her, beating her attacker half to death. Any of it. It didn’t even matter at that moment. She needed an answer for _something_. They couldn’t go on like this.

“Do _what_?” he answered with and his voice was dark and sharp as he turned his head just slightly back toward her.

“Everything.” She spoke the word softly and was surprised to hear a small snarl in answer from him.

And then he was turning, facing her, and she could see his teeth slightly bared in a grimace. “You mean why did I beat that man half to death?”

“You saved me,” she answered with instead. “You came to my rescue, swooped in and _saved me_.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“Because isn’t that what _Prince Charming_ does?” His voice went up as he spoke the words, a strange high-pitched emphasis on the name that she had never heard before. His eyes were dark, darker than she remembered.

She knew she should back off.

But she also knew she wouldn’t.

“Yes,” she answered honestly. “It is. But you’ve told me before that you’re not quite that type.”

“I’m not.”

“But you saved me.” She spoke the words softly, so much so that she wasn’t sure he could hear them over the music.

“Indeed,” he muttered.

She could hear _that_ and closed her eyes for a moment. “Thank you,” she finally managed to say. “I don’t think I ever thanked you for saving me from him.”

Gold waved a hand in the air and then brought it back to his chest, fingers rubbing together. “It’s no matter.”

She wanted to say more about the issue, press it. There was more there. She was sure of it. But she stayed silent, watching him, waiting.

“If that’s all…” he started and she could see his eyes start to shutter.

“It’s not,” she said and stepped closer to him. Too close really. She could see the moment he knew what she going to bring up, could see the way his shoulders tensed, the way his arms went stiff at his sides. He leaned back away from her, just slightly. Enough that she knew he wanted her to leave this.

And yet she couldn’t.

The elephant in the room had to be dragged out into the open if they were going to get past this, move onto…well…whatever it was that they had here. “Why did you kiss me?”

He cleared his throat and she found herself actually smiling. Not that she enjoyed making him uncomfortable but dammit, they _had_ to talk about this. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“You had your tongue in my mouth, it certainly _is_ my business,” she shot back. “Why did you kiss me?”

He snarled something at her and backed up, his legs hitting the desk as he did so. He let out a curse as Belle stalked closer.

She asked the question again. Maybe this wasn’t the best way to go about it. He looked cornered, like a wounded animal that would do anything to escape before being eaten alive.

“Get out.” The words were snarled.

“No. Why did you kiss me?”

“Miss French.”

“Belle.”

“Dammit, you just won’t leave well enough alone will you?” His accent had thickened with his anger and just a touch of fear. He sounded frantic and desperate. But dammit, he was going to address this issue _now_. Before it became such an overwhelming thing that it drove a wedge between them. It was already on its way there.

“Why. Did _you_. Kiss me?” She tried to keep the anger out of her voice but he was not making this easy. A simple question. A simple answer. What was there between them? It clearly wasn’t _nothing_ like he was trying…and failing…to pretend.

He snarled again, incoherent and with bared teeth. “Because I bloody well wanted to.” The words were almost unintelligible, but Belle manage to make sense of them just one moment before his arm came out to wrap around her waist and he hauled her up tight against him. His eyes searched hers. "Why did you kiss _me_?" The words were whispered and there was a sense of urgency there.

She knew if she said the wrong thing he'd back off, turn away, and this moment would be ignored like the last one. It might be the last chance she had to _make_ something of this. Not that even _she_ knew what she wanted. "Because I bloody well wanted to," she finally managed to respond with.

The words had barely gone past her lips when his came crashing down on hers and wasn't it just everything she remembered and then some. There was a fierceness there, a desperation, that hadn't been the last time. His arm held her tight to him, her hands came up to tangle in his hair.

When his tongue touched her lips she opened them for him, allowing him access as her hands tightened on his scalp, nails scratching him lightly. He moaned into her mouth and she answered him, tugging harder on his hair, pulling him closer. She wanted to wrap herself around him, wanted to feel every bit of him.

When he finally released her mouth and murmured her name, her _first_ name, Belle knew he was well and truly gone and she pulled him back in for another long kiss, softer this time but no less desperate.

"Bed?" She whispered the word, breathless. She couldn't manage to get anything else out.

"Fuck yes," Gold responded with and without giving him a chance to think, tugged him out of the study and into his nearby bedroom. His, because it was closer. His, because she didn't want to give him a chance to think and decide they were making a mistake. His, because it smelled like him and she wanted to be surrounded by everything that was him in that moment.

She sat on the bed and pulled him after her and he came willingly, using his cane to leverage himself onto the bed with her and then dumping it off the side. He wouldn’t need it there in the comfort of the bed.

As soon as she leaned back he followed her.

But stopped. Just inches from her lips and she opened her eyes to look back up at him. “Yes, I’m sure,” she murmured to his unspoken question. He kissed her again then, lips hard against hers as she wrapped herself around him like she’d wanted to do in the study. He groaned as her leg came around him, pulled him tight to her.

She liked the weight of him there, pressed against her. It felt right somehow. It felt even _more_ right when his lips left hers with a groan and he pulled the hair away from her neck to press kisses down the side of it, nipping lightly at the base of her neck before using his tongue to soothe the sharpness of the pain.

Without even considering what she was doing, her hands came up under his sweater and pushed it up. She wanted to feel skin, wanted to feel him against her. He left her neck for a moment to tug impatiently at the sweater, tossing it across the room before returning to her. There still wasn’t enough skin for her to touch, but his forearms were bare and she was able to get her hand up underneath the undershirt he still wore, caressing his stomach and feeling the muscles bunch there.

His hand under her own shirt was tentative, soft touches of calloused fingers on her skin before closing over the lacy cup of her bra.

This wouldn’t do. It simply wouldn’t. And so she pulled her shirt over her head and was gratified when he reached behind her to undo the bra himself. When she was bare he stopped. Stopped. Stared. “Beautiful,” he murmured and his gaze even more than the word made her feel as if she truly were. His hand cupped one of her breasts reverently and he leaned down to nose at it, breathing her in. She could feel the tickle of his breath fan out across her just before he touched his tongue to the underside of her breast and how did he know that she preferred that, that she liked to feel lips and teeth and tongue at the sensitive underside even more than the nipple.

Not that he ignored the latter, coming up to suckle lightly, tongue touching it. Her back arched and she gripped his hair and she swore to God if he stopped she would have words, _harsh words,_ for him.

But no, he didn’t stop, making his way to the other breast before pressing kisses to her stomach, nipping lightly at the skin just above where her pants ended before unbuttoning them. She helped him pull them off and her lacy panties went the same way just moments after. It felt strange being bare before someone. It had been a long time, longer than she even wanted to face. There had been things she needed to do, a sick father to care for, school, and life that just came between her and the thought of a relationship.

She let him spread her legs apart and suddenly he was there, his mouth coming down on her center and she let out a sound that even surprised her. “You don’t…” She started to say. “I never…” But he didn’t even seem to notice her frantic half-finished sentences.

She had _never_ had anyone do this. Oh, she had read about it, imagined it. But her ex was adamantly against going down on her and she hadn’t much dated since then. There had been no time to experiment, to try new things. Missionary position. That was the sum total of her sexual experience. Missionary position and masturbating to get herself off since her ex never seemed to much care if she did or didn’t.

But now Gold was between her legs, his mouth on her, and it was _glorious_. His tongue lapped at her, circled her clitoris and then he _sucked_. He pressed one finger inside her and crooked it and she couldn’t even think straight. All she could focus on was the wetness of his mouth, the motions of his tongue, that finger inside her that was joined by another. And then he hit something deep inside her and her whole body tightened for a moment before she felt herself let go, her hands gripping at his hair, keeping him there until the sensations became too much.

“Tavish,” she murmured.

When she looked down at him, he was staring at her and she couldn’t quite figure out exactly that look meant. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

She reached for him. “What…” she started to say, but he slipped through her grasp and backed up a pace. She could see his own arousal tenting his pants and his hand came there briefly, trying to block her view. As if it were something to be ashamed of.

“I shouldn’t have,” he said and she realized everything was all going terribly wrong. He was shutting himself off again, the walls going up faster than she could tear them down,

“Tavish,” she crawled to the edge of the bed as he bent to pick up his cane. He moved away from her then, faster than she might have expected considering his ankle and, well, everything else. “Tavish, don’t. Please.”

He hesitated on the last word and she could see the hand that gripped his cane shaking. “I’m sorry,” he said again. Then he was gone.

And Belle was left wondering what exactly he was sorry for.


	18. Chapter 18

The call came sometime toward morning. Belle cracked one eye open and noticed that there was a little bit of light coming in through the window. She had managed to crawl back to her room sometime during the night. She still had no idea exactly what had happened there. One moment they were in such beautiful communication and he had done things to her body she never even _imagined_ were possible.

The next he had run from the room like a scared rabbit, afraid he had done something wrong, afraid of…her? She still couldn’t make sense of it. She ultimately had spent most of the night trying to figure out just _what_ he was sorry for. Did he think she didn’t want it? Did he think that his advances were somehow unwelcome? _She_ had started that little thing after all by confronting him. Maybe he thought the whole thing was a big mistake.

But Belle couldn’t deny that it had been heading there since that kiss in the library some time ago. And it should have ended up with them collapsed in each other’s arms, wonderfully sweaty and sated.

There still would have been much to talk about. But at least they both would have ended the evening sated, instead of Gold rushing off still in a state of arousal and Belle left alone and confused.

She finally managed to crawl out of bed and grab the phone, her heart going into her stomach at the number that was lighting up the screen. She almost didn’t want to answer it, wanted to toss it across the room. A phone call from _that number_ at this hour did not bode well.

Her father did not call at 6:28am.

“Hello?” She hated the way her voice sounded in that moment, mere seconds from tears.

“Miss French?” came the sure, quiet voice of the nurse from the other line. It wasn’t the doctor. That was at least some spark of hope.

“Yes?”

“Your father’s conditioned has worsened.” She felt her stomach hit the floor, felt the lump form in her throat.

“How bad?”

The pause on the other end of the line did not leave her feeling any better. “He’s asked for you.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She shivered as she hung up the phone and fought back the tears that pricked at her eyes. She would not cry. Not yet. She could cry after she saw him. She could cry when she spoke to the doctors and the nurses about his condition. She could not cry when she saw her father and so took a deep breath.

Then another.

And then she got dressed like she did any other day, warm comfortable clothes, her bit of armor against the world. She thought briefly about putting on a skirt and heels, but she expected a long day at the hospital and a lot of tears. There was no sense dressing up for tears.

When she stepped out of the room, she didn’t expect to find Gold just beyond the door. He was watching her and he looked wary, trapped. After a moment, he finally seemed to be able to find his words. “Did I hear your phone ring?”

She nodded. “My father…” She waved one hand uselessly in the air.

“Say no more,” he responded with quickly and she was surprised by the compassion in his voice. She gave him a tight smile and started to move past him. “Do you…” He stopped there and there was such an awkwardness to his voice that she felt it deep inside her. “Do you need a ride?”

“No. I’ll be fine.”

“Take all the time you need.” He left her then and she wasn’t sure if she should breathe a sigh of relief or beg him to come with her. She needed someone to lean on. She just didn’t know if she _could_ lean on him.

“Thank you,” she said and she knew he heard her only by the way he hesitated for a moment as he walked away.

* * *

When she stepped into the hospital and gave her name to the woman at the front desk she was almost immediately buzzed through. The nurse that met her was a quiet woman and the calmness around her made Belle’s heart beat at least a little slower.

“Can I see him?” Belle asked as she followed the woman to a small sitting room.

She turned to her and there was still that look of calm about her. Almost unsettling calm, Belle realized. The kind of calm that means there’s bad news but she can’t tell you and she doesn’t want to watch you fall to pieces. “I think it’s best you meet with the doctor first.”

He arrived not long after the nurse left. The woman’s complete opposite, he came into the room in a huge bustle, shouting orders over his shoulder and good naturedly teasing the nurse who had just left her. He was large, his accent heavy, Middle Eastern she thought though she wasn’t quite sure.

When he turned to her, the smile he had on his face faded away and she was left with the serious face of the doctor who had the news. Bad news, she knew and she took a deep breath, steeled herself for this conversation. “What’s going on?”

The doctor took a deep breath and Belle reached for one of the tissues. “The experimental drugs we’ve had your father on aren’t working.”

“Not working how?”

“The drugs we had him on were intended to retard the growth of new cancer cells. They were unique in that we could pattern them to someone’s DNA and work within that structure to stop the cancer in its path…”

“I know that,” Belle cut him off with. “I remember all of this. What has happened?”

“The cancer has not slowed down.” The words were grim, no nonsense. “It’s spreading at an alarming rate.”

Belle put her hand to her head, took another deep breath. “Is there anything else we can do?”

“There are other drugs,” the doctor started to say and then paused. Belle knew what that pause meant.

“But?”

“It’s costly. Insurance won’t cover them.”

“And I don’t make enough,” Belle finished the sentence for him. Even with all the extra money from Gold, all the money she was setting aside, it wasn’t enough. Her father was going to die and there was nothing she could do about it, no recourse left open to her. She sometimes wondered what she did to make the universe hate her. Her mother died when she was quite young. She barely had memories of her. Her father was only 65. She had thought she’d have years with him, that he’d someday walk her down the aisle. Instead he was dying in a hospital bed, with only her visits to cheer him. She took a deep breath. "So what now then?"

"Hospice care?" the doctor asked and his voice was gentle, even if the words were not ones she needed.

"He's really going to die, isn't he?" She closed her eyes for a moment, willed any tears to stop so she could face the doctor with some sort of dignity. The doctor didn't have to say a word. She knew the truth. "How do I set up getting him transferred?"

She listened with only half an ear as the doctor outlined who she would have to talk to, the calls she had to made, what local hospice places were available. Her father was going to die. Her _father_ was going to die. He was all she had left in her world, her mother gone long ago, no siblings, aunts and uncles and cousins simply too far away to be any sort of comfort.

“I need to see him.” It needed to be his decision as much as it was hers. She had no place to take him home to, no place hospice care could come watch over him from a distance. And so he had to be comfortable with wherever they chose for him to go.

“Of course,” the doctor responded and nodded at her as she rose and departed from the room.

* * *

Her father was propped up on the bed, eyes closed when she walked into the room. She hated to see the creases of pain evident on his face. The nurse had warned her that they had put him on a bit of morphine, the sort of last resort to keep patients calm and pain-free when all else failed. “Papa?” She spoke quietly. If he was sleeping, she didn’t want to disturb him.

“Belle?” His response was weak, the booming voice of her childhood reduced to a mere whisper. His eyes opened and they were bleary, unfocused as he looked around the dim room for her. She rushed to his side and sat down, her hand coming out to grasp his much weaker one.

He was just a shell of the great man he had once been. She always remembered him as larger than life, as a huge presence in her childhood. Belle had been tiny, taking after her mother’s side of the family and getting to just barely above five feet tall. Her father was massive, over six feet, and with a personality to match his large size.

Now he had lost several pounds, his flesh hanging on his large frame. She had noticed of course, but he was still so much larger than life that it was easy to overlook. The drugs would do their part, he'd get better, he'd regain the weight and be his old self. But now she knew that wasn't true.

"I told you I didn't want you to see me like this," he said and his voice was strained.

Belle fought back the tears. It wouldn't do them any good for her to start crying, to make him anxious. "Well, tough luck Papa. Sometimes you just don't get what you want." She said the last bit with a smile and squeezed his hand.

"They tell me I don't have too much time."

And there were the words. The words she didn't want to hear. She bowed low and pressed a kiss to her father's hand. "I know. They told me the drugs aren't working anymore…"

He gave her a slight smile. "It seems it's time for this old body to move on, my girl."

"I'm not ready to lose you," she whispered.

"I know," was his only response. His eyes were closed when she looked back up and for a second she felt the panic rise. But then his eyes opened again and met hers.

"Papa, they want me to set up hospice care for you." She let the words hang. This had to be _his_ decision after all. The fighting was done. They had no more money to keep going and his health, already so fragile, would crumble if he were forced to do something against his will.

"I know."

"And so…"

"Do it, my dear. I can't stay here. And you can't take care of me. It's for the best." His eyes shut then and his breathing evened out and Belle choked back a sob. It wasn't for the best, not really. But it was all she had left.

* * *

Sitting in the office at the only local hospice care center in the area, Belle felt adrift, as if she'd simply been let loose like a helium balloon and was floating somewhere high above the room. Watching. Not really all there.

This wasn't real.

It couldn't be real.

Without thinking, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed Gold's number. She didn't know when she'd be back. She supposed he deserved to know that she was going to be longer. And if she really wanted to be honest with herself, she wanted to hear his voice. That made her pause for a moment and she almost hung up the phone, not even sure what she was going to say. But then Gold’s voice was on the other end of the line and she felt her stomach settle just slightly.

“Belle?” He sounded concerned and despite everything, that made her smile.

“Hey,” she responded with and she wasn’t sure where to go from there.

There was a pause, then finally. “Is everything ok?”

She wanted to laugh. Of course it wasn’t. But he knew that. It’s just, what _does_ one say when someone’s world is crumbling all around them and they’re desperately trying to stay afloat anyway? “No,” she finally answered and her voice was small.

"Do you…"

"They're suggesting hospice care," she cut him off with.

He didn't speak for a moment. "The experimental drugs?"

"Are exactly that. They stopped working. And I don't have the money to try anything else." She tried to sound matter-of-fact, but there was a small hitch in her voice. "They're suggesting hospice care," she said again, not sure what else to say

"I see," he responded with and she could almost feel the awkwardness over the phone. "I'm sorry," he finally added and she felt herself at least smile a little bit.

"Thank you. I just…I wanted you to know where I was…"

"Is there anything I can do?" he cut her off with and she was sure he finally managed to find the right words.

"No. But…thank you." She hung up with him soon after. Talking to him had calmed her nerves a bit but she couldn't say she felt better about things. She never would, but with a deep breath she was at least able to face the hospice director and nurse when they came to meet with her.

* * *

"What did you do?" The words were out of Belle's mouth before she even managed to get the door shut behind her. "Gold!" she shouted and was rewarded with nothing but silence.

But Taz was there.

And Bandit too.

So he was somewhere inside the house.

She had set everything up for hospice, had shed countless tears as she talked about end of life care, the process, what hospice could and couldn't do. It was heart-wrenching and she felt drained, as if every emotion had simply wrung her dry.

But then she had returned to her father and found them setting up an IV. With more medication. New medication. _Expensive_ medication. There had to be a mistake. They were transporting him the following morning. She had shouted at the nurses, scared, worried. She couldn't afford such treatment.

But they had taken her aside, pulled her into the other room, and told her that everything was covered. _Covered_. As if her insurance had suddenly decided to play at being nice and took care of the cost. But no, they hadn't. She _knew_ they hadn't. And yet there they were telling her not to worry, that she didn't have to spend another dime.

It was all taken care of.

And she knew. Before she even left the hospital after kissing her father goodbye and promising to come back in the next couple days. She knew.

There was only one person who knew where she was.

And only one person who had the money to do this.

"Belle," he said quietly as he approached. There was a hesitancy in his walk and in his gaze. He leaned heavily on the cane as he moved closer to her and she could see him just looking for a means of escape. "I didn't think you'd be back so soon."

"Yes, well, as it turns out they can't have me there while they're administering the new drugs." She tried to make the words quiet and calm, but there was ire behind them. He did this. He did it behind her back.

Absolutely nothing the man did made sense.

He took her to bed, but abandoned her before it got very far, leaving himself unsatisfied.

He distanced himself from her, but nearly beat a man to death for hurting her.

He was a study in strange contradictions. One moment acting like her best friend in the world, like he wanted to be so much more. The next running scared, hiding any emotions behind the mask she kept trying to tear away.

What was he?

And what was he to _her_?

"Ah," he responded with.

"Ah?" she shot back and then put her fingers to her temples, massaging. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

"It's no matter." And she could hear the tentative tone to his voice.

"Why?" she finally asked, shutting her eyes briefly. That was the question that haunted her the entire drive home. Why would he do it?

He didn't respond right away, eyes slightly wider than usual, mouth half open. "I can't have you distracted," he finally said.

Her eyebrows shot up and for a moment, just one damned tiny little moment she wanted to slap him. "You don't mean that." She was sure of that. More than anything else at the moment, she was sure of that.

"No." He gave her a half smile and she felt her stomach flip just slightly. "No I suppose I don't."'

"Then why?" Belle asked and stepped closer. She wanted to reach out, cup his face, make him look in her eyes as he told her. But she didn't. She stayed a couple feet away from him, hands folded together in front of her.

"Don't ask me that." His voice was almost a whisper and Belle had to lean just a little bit closer to him to hear the words.

"But…"

"Don't," he said and the word was sharper, still with that slight edge of pain. She watched as he took a breath, then another, before turning.

"Wait," she said and held up a hand. But he only hesitated for a moment.

"I don't know." He spoke the words clearly, succinctly, his back still turned to her. And walked away, slowly, haltingly, the thud of his cane echoing through the silent house as he moved.

She let him go. She didn't know what else to do, really. He had almost opened up, _almost_. And then he'd closed up, tight, and left her wondering. He had saved her father…maybe. At the very least he gave him a fighting chance. One last chance to try to beat the demon that was killing him little by little from the inside out.

And yet he couldn't even take credit for it, couldn't even explain to her why he had done it. He just wanted her to accept it and leave it be. She wasn't sure she'd ever come to understand him. Just when a layer was peeled back and she saw something underneath the sarcastic exterior, he'd rip that layer right out of her hands and pile it back on. He hid deep inside himself most of the time and letting her in seemed almost painful to him.

He was an enigma.

And if there was one thing Belle French was fascinated by, it was enigmas.

Oh yes, she was deep in trouble here. There was no doubt about that.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry it's taken so long...again. I'm still writing, but very slow due to "real life" things interfering. Thank you everyone who is still sticking with this story!

“Pay attention, Miss French.” Gold’s sharp voice brought her back to attention. She was standing at the base of the field, Bandit to her left, the sheep somewhere up above. She could barely focus on them. Her eyes were half closed, bleary. She’d snap at Gold, but the truth was she had demanded the lesson. And she wasn't quite sure she had the strength required for snapping, anyway.

He had suggested she take a long bath, get some sleep. He looked at her with a sort of worry that left her almost breathless at times. He cared. She was sure of it.

But she had insisted on the lesson, told him she was fine, that she wanted the distraction of their continued lessons.

But the reality was that concentration was just slightly beyond her at the moment. Things had been going horribly awry. Her commands were late, when they came at all. Bandit had taken to racing around the sheep, skirting back and forth, trying to listen to Belle’s commands while still trying to take control. It was a disaster and when the sheep finally took off up the field in what amounted to a stampede, Bandit hot on their heels, she was ready to admit defeat.

She didn’t have it in her that day.

“I’m sorry,” she finally muttered, offering up one lame whistle. It stopped Bandit, but the sheep continued on and she could see that the dog was stressed, tongue hanging out, mouth just a little too wide. "Maybe this wasn't my best idea."

For a moment Gold just watched her, a deep furrow between his brows.. She saw one hand raise and she thought he might actually touch her. But the hand dropped to his side quickly enough and the moment passed. "No, I suppose it wasn't." There was a crooked smile on his face and she was glad there was no ire behind the words. She wanted to impress him, she realized. She wanted him to think she knew what she was doing, that all his work with her was paying off.

Today was supposed to be fun and challenging. They were working on moving a small number of sheep through the drive gates. It was a basic herding trial section, but it was tricky to get at first. Belle had been looking forward to it but she could barely get Bandit to move the sheep toward her that day.

They were silent for a moment and then Gold stepped a little closer to her. "If you need to go see him…" He let the words trail off.

She nodded and shut her eyes briefly. "I think that I do." Her father wasn't doing better. He wasn't doing _worse_ either, but the new cocktail of drugs they had had him on for the past week hadn't seemed to do anything. The doctors told her it may be too soon to see anything, but even they looked concerned about it. It wasn't that she was expecting a miracle. Far from it, really. But she hoped for more time. That was all.

"Good then." He waved her away. "I'll take care of the sheep."

"And Bandit?"

He gave her a solemn nod, hand held to his heart. "Of course."

She said no more, simply turned and headed back into the house to change. She knew that heading for the hospital was for the best, even if her heart broke just a little bit more each time she saw her father. It was a terrible thing, really. She wanted to be with him…wanted to always be at his side. And yet every time she _was_ there she had to fight back the tears, speak through the throat she could feel closing up.

It was getting more difficult all the time and she felt terribly selfish, disappointed in herself. She had to be strong and yet the strength was leaving her. She looked at her father and she knew. _She knew_. There was not much time left. The new medications they had put him on would only prolong the inevitable.

With a heavy heart, she headed out to her car. _Be strong_. The words echoed within her mind. Be strong, don’t cry. Don’t let him know that you’re going to be lost without his presence in your life. He had to know she’d be ok. Even if she wouldn’t. He had to believe that. It was the one thing she _really_ needed him to believe before he passed on.

She turned the key in the ignition and there was a click.

And then nothing.

_Nothing_?

She tried it again and still nothing. But it had power. That much she could tell. She flicked the lights, turned on the overhead light. Yes, there was power. But the car wouldn’t start. She wanted to slam her head down on the steering wheel, a dramatic gesture she hadn’t made use of since she was a teenager.

But she didn’t. She crawled out of the car, bit back a curse word, and opened the hood. Not that there was any reason to do _that_ really. Belle knew nothing about cars. She could put in windshield washer fluid. She even added coolant when it got low. But beyond that the inside workings of an automobile were as much a mystery as trigonometry was to her.

Gold found her like that a short while later. “Miss French?”

She shot him a look. “Need I remind you…”

“Of course not…Belle.” At least there was a smile on his face when he said her name. “Your car…” He let the words hang as he waved a hand at it.

“I don’t know,” she muttered. “It won’t start. There’s power, but all I hear is a little click.”

He looked grim, she realized, as he glanced down at the hood. And then he finally looked back up at her. “I don’t know a damned thing about cars.”

“You live on a farm in the middle of nowhere and you don’t know _anything_ about cars?” She couldn’t help the note of incredulity that crept into her voice.

He gave her a sheepish look. “No. But I think it may be a problem with the starter?”

“Well, yes,” she shot back. “It doesn’t start so that does seem likely.” She closed her eyes, rubbed the bridge of her nose for a moment. “I’m sorry. That was unfair.”

“You’re under a lot of stress.” There was a note of true understanding there and she allowed herself to take a few deep breaths before responding.

“I am.”

“Do you want a ride to the hospital?” And he sounded almost hopeful, she realized. As if he really wanted to play at rescuing her yet again.

“Would you mind?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I minded,” he pointed out.

“Right.” There were times he was kind, times he was almost gentle. And those were the times she just really didn’t know what to do about him. She knew how to handle his sarcasm, how to handle the times he drew into himself. But when he did things like this, she just wasn’t sure how to react. “Thank you,” she finally said.

He waved her over to his truck and went inside to pluck the keys from the board he kept them hanging on. “I’ll call David and have him come take a look at your car,” he said as he unlocked the door to the truck.

“Thanks,” she said and before she could even get in the car, Bandit raced past her and hopped in. “No, girl,” she started to say.

“Let her come,” Gold said.

“To the hospital?”

“Maybe meeting her will cheer your father up?” She sat down and simply stared at him over Bandit’s head. “What?” he asked and still she stared.

“I’m just trying to figure out where the real Gold is.” She bit her lip and tried not to smile.

He leaned a little closer to her. “Do you want me to make you walk?”

The quip made her laugh out loud and if Bandit weren’t sitting between them, she might have leaned over to kiss him. But she didn’t. She just leaned back in the seat, still grinning, and let him drive her to the hospital.

* * *

He watched her rush off almost as soon as they set foot in the hospital. She had turned back toward him briefly as the nurses all stopped to say hello, as she was surrounded by people, and mouthed something. He wasn’t even sure what, but he simply waved and let her go.

Which left him alone in a lobby with people rushing around him and no one paying attention to him. It was a strange feeling. Whenever he had been in the hospital before it had been as a patient. People made careful note of his needs, made sure he didn’t want for anything, and frankly stayed in his hair for far too long. But now he was simply adrift, standing in a small sea of people who barely even noticed him.

He took a seat in the lobby. He didn’t know what else to do. It wasn’t like he could just leave her there without a way home. They had made no arrangement and he didn’t know how long she’d be here. Sometimes she’d go visit her father and come back less than an hour later. Sometimes she’d be gone all afternoon. And so he settled in.

He really couldn’t just leave her there.

Even if he told himself he damn well should. Because, really, what was she to him?

And he didn’t want to answer that one.

Not honestly at least.

Because when that phone woke him up, when he saw the pain in her eyes, he felt like he had been punched in the gut. It was a weird feeling, really, unexpected and yet not. He had felt much the same way when he had seen her being assaulted. He had, in fact, gotten so protective of her that he’d blacked out and only come to when she was begging him to stop. He had had rages before, certainly, but not to that level. And not since he had allowed alcohol to drag him down after his divorce and loss of his son.

Seeing her hurt made him ache.

And that was something he was better off ignoring, really. Which was why he remained at the hospital of course, legs spread out in front of him, cane set carefully in the seat next to him to avoid any sort of conversation with others who might need to make use of the waiting room. He needed to be here…for whatever reason. But it didn’t mean he had to talk to anyone else. Perhaps just leaning back and closing his eyes…

“Tavish?”

He started when he realized he had been dozing off, head back against the wall. As he blinked and looked up at Belle, he sincerely hoped he hadn’t been drooling on himself. “Hey,” he managed to get out.

“I didn’t think you’d still be here.”

“I…well…I couldn’t just leave you here…”

She smiled and didn’t that just make his heart flip. “I have a phone.”

“I know, but…”

“Thanks,” she cut him off with and he almost breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t want to have to explain things that he couldn’t even explain to himself.

“How’s your father?” It seemed the right thing to say.

She gave him a tight smile and he could see the way her eyes creased slightly at the corners. “Well enough I suppose. He enjoyed meeting Bandit. So did the nurses. ‘Amazing,’ I think they said.”

“She is.” Gold’s voice was quiet, but firm when he spoke. “That’s because of you.” He hadn’t meant the words to slip out, hadn’t meant to be quite so honest. But Belle sat next to him and her hand touched his leg, just a soft touch but it went straight through him.

“I think you should come meet my father.” She sounded hesitant about it.

“I don’t think...”

“I do,” she cut him off with. “He wants to meet you.” He gave her a look and she made a face at him, one of _those_ faces. “He _does_ ,” she reiterated. “He asked after you.”

“Really?” He couldn’t help the dry note that crept into this voice.

“He just wants to make sure I’m safe.”

“After...” He cut himself off before he could say the words. _After I beat that man nearly to death. After I scared you. After you ran_ …

“No.” He was surprised at her quick denial of that. “He’s just being a father. His little girl is all alone in the world without him.”

He nodded. He knew far better than she could have imagined what it was like being a father. He had never told her about his son, he realized. Not that he had had any reason to. The photos of him he kept private, locked away in his study and bedroom, and stories of him were as locked up in his heart as those photos were. He had no reason to tell her about his son. At least not yet. There would come a time, if she stayed with him, if she didn’t run for good, that she’d have to know about him. Milah would put the boy on a bus, send him across the country to him for his two weeks visitation. If she was still here in the early part of the summer, well, he’d face it then.

“I understand,” he finally said and allowed Belle to draw him to his feet. It seemed he was going to meet the man. And why it felt like he did when he met Milah’s father, all those years ago, dragged in and found wanting, he didn’t know.

* * *

When they walked into the room, the only thing Belle could hear was the beeping of the machines attached to her father. It seemed that there were more machines all the time. Monitor his heart, monitor his oxygen. There were more tubes going into him than she could have imagined and it seemed that every time she visited now more had been added. She couldn’t even keep track of them.

“Papa?” she asked and was rewarded with him shifting slightly, his eyes opening. “I’m sorry Papa. I know you need your rest.”

He waved her over. “I always have more time for my best girl.”

She smiled and glanced briefly at Gold, who stood nearby holding Bandit’s leash.

“We won’t stay long,” she said as she stepped close.

“We?” She watched as his eyes moved and finally managed to focus on Gold.

“Papa, this is Mr. Gold.” He stepped forward then, but didn’t extend his hand. A strange look passed across his face and she was almost certain it was a little bit of sadness. Her father _looked_ ill now, features sunken in, large frame far too thin even beneath all the layers they had him piled up in.

“This is the man who…”

“The one I live with, yes.” She could feel her face color slightly that is. “That is…the one who takes care of the farm. Bandit’s owner,” she added rather lamely.

“Bandit is yours,” Gold said and she turned to look at him. _Hers_? She always had the impression she was just sort of _leasing_ the dog, that if she turned her back on his farm, Bandit would stay there. She slept with her, but she wasn’t her dog. “Yes,” he answered her unspoken question. “The dog is yours.” She smiled at the words before turning back to her father.

He was eying Gold and she knew what he was thinking. This was the man who had scared her, who had saved her and yet beaten her attacker into submission. “I thought you would have been…”

“Younger?" Gold asked, a sardonic twist to his lips.

“Larger.” Her father’s voice was flat when he responded.

Gold let out a small snort of laughter. “Yes, well, there is that too.” Belle had to bite her lip to keep herself from laughing. Gold didn’t seem to know what to say for a moment and then finally managed a few words. “Your daughter needed to be protected.”

“She brings that out in all of us.” He looked from Gold to her and then back to Gold again. “You need to take care of her.”

“I…”

“Promise me that much,” her father said and there were tears in his eyes.

“Papa.” Belle tried to modulate her voice into something a bit less like an admonishment, but the soft tone was still a little sharp. “It’s not Mr. Gold’s…”

“Of course,” Gold cut her off with, turning to look at her briefly. He met her eyes and there was something there, something she couldn’t quite understand. And then the look was gone and he was turning back to her father. “She will be well taken care of. You have my word.”

“Papa,” Belle said and this time the word was just soft.

“I’m dying, my girl,” he said as he turned tired eyes up to her. _Damnit_. She did not want to cry, not here, not in front of her father, not in front of Gold. But she felt the tears in her eyes and rushed forward to clasp her father’s hands in hers.

“Papa, they may still…”

“No.” His voice was firmer than she’d heard it in a long time. “They can keep trying, but a body knows.”

She took a deep breath, another. And then she felt Gold come up behind her and his hand lightly touched her shoulder. Another shuddering breath, eyes closed, fighting against the flood of tears. She would not break down. That was for moments when she was alone, holed up in her room or out in the barn with only the sheep and dogs for company. It was not for _here_.

“I think we should go, Belle.”

She looked at her father, stricken. But he nodded. “Yes.” His voice was weakening and she knew that Gold was right. It was time to leave.

But she didn’t want to.

Leaving was harder each time.

Each time she worried it might be the last time she saw her father. But she had to go, had to let him sleep. She watched as he reached out and pressed the button on the machine next to him. It would administer a dose of pain killer that would soon have him sleeping peacefully.

“Alright, Papa,” she finally said, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll see you soon.”

“But not when I don’t feel well, my girl. You know that right?” She smiled. Her father still had so much dignity, so much pride.

“Of course, Papa.”

She turned to leave, had gotten only a few steps away when she noticed her father reach out and grab Gold’s sleeve. “You take care of her.” His eyes were intense for a moment and when Gold nodded, her father lay back and shut his eyes.

They left the room in silence, Gold leading the way back to his truck. She didn't know what to say, what to think. All she could do was trudge after him, eyes a little bleary. When she swayed slightly before getting in the truck, Gold simply held out a hand and allowed her to use the leverage to get up into the vehicle.

He turned to her when he got in and with her head pressed against the window, she could just barely see him out of the corner of her eye.

"Are you ok?" His voice was quiet as he asked.

Belle simply shut her eyes, letting the coolness of the window soothe the ache in her head, even if it couldn't soothe her heart. "No," she finally said, a mere whisper. But he heard her anyway.

He said nothing, just watched her for a moment and then started up the car.

And she was thankful. If he said anything, if he offered her sympathy, a pat on the shoulder, anything, she was likely to break apart. But he didn't. Almost like he knew.

And so they made the ride home in silence, Belle watching the world go by, wondering how things could be so bleak while spring was starting to make its way into their small town.

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has stuck by me during this story. My muse was slow to return after all the stress, but it's coming back finally! I'm actually halfway through the NEXT chapter, so hopefully updates will pick up from here on out!

The day she returned with Gold from visiting her father was the last one that she really had any hope. They had come home and without a word, he had gone and run a bath for her. She had needed it, needed to soak away the tension and the anger and the fear. So much fear. Fear like she had never experienced before in her life. Her father was young still, just 65 and this shouldn’t be his time.

But the doctors had given her a bleak picture. There were always more drugs, more experiments, but the cancer was spreading fast and they weren’t sure anything would halt it in its path of destruction. And so the fear settled somewhere in her belly, like a hard knot that was always threatening to steal her breath, to choke her.

Gold had made dinner that night. It was simple fare and they said little during the meal, but she was thankful for not having to do the cooking and cleaning. She wasn’t sure her mind could focus that long and while nothing he made her was more complicated than a grilled cheese sandwich, she was content with that much.

The days that followed that night were a blur to Belle when she looked back on them some time later. Lessons stopped. She couldn’t focus and while Gold was out with the sheep every day, getting them out to the field and back, Belle just couldn’t manage it.

She spent more of her days at the hospital, Bandit at her side. The pair were there so often that the nurses all welcomed her in, sometimes offered her a muffin in the morning if she looked particularly exhausted. Gold dropped her off most days. Her car had been repaired, but he knew she didn’t have the focus to drive herself back and forth every day. So he got up, let the sheep out, and dropped her off at the hospital, returning when the visiting hours were up.

Her father had long since stopped refusing to see her when he wasn’t feeling well. Truth be told, that was most of the time these days. They had been pumping him full of yet another course of experimental drugs. These were related to chemo but should target things a little more specifically. Gene therapy, they called it. She wasn’t sure what that meant exactly.

She tried to keep a brave face on when she went to visit him, but she could see the dark circles under her eyes, could see the way he was wasting away, the way the exhaustion was starting to take him little by little.

They had tried _so hard_. He was supposed to beat this. He wasn’t supposed to die. This was supposed to be a bump in the road, no more severe than her car needing repair or a sheep going missing. He was supposed to have surgery, have chemo, have radiation, and then _get well_. Go home. Live his life, another twenty years at least. She wanted, at his funeral, for people to be able to say _Well at least he lived a good long life_.

65 was not a good long life.

And that’s all she could think of every night, every day, every time she sat down at her father’s side and took his hand in hers.

“You’re not sleeping,” her father said one day. She looked away from him, down at her lap, anywhere but at her father. She didn’t want him to see the tears, the dark circles.

Finally she responded and her voice was slightly choked. “No.”

“Ah, my Belle.” Her father reached out and gripped her hand as tightly as he could. Great big hands, that’s what she always remembered of him. Big hands that held her up, showed her the world. Now they felt small. Her father _looked_ small.

“Papa,” she whispered.

“I’m dying, my girl,” he managed to say.

“No.” She didn’t even know why she spoke the word. She knew it was true. Denial wouldn’t get her anywhere, but still she needed that denial.

“I _am_ ,” he reiterated. “Look at me, Belle.” She couldn't though. And so he repeated the words, stronger, coughing on the last syllable. She finally looked up and met his eyes. Tired eyes. He was _tired_. And she suddenly realized what a toll this was taking on him, trying to be strong, trying to keep going.

"Oh, Papa. What am I going to do without you?" She raised his hand toward her, pressed her cheek to the back of it. "I'm not ready to…" She couldn't quite finish the sentence. She didn't want to face a time without her father in her life, when his voice will only be a distant memory, when she can't feel his hand in hers or see him smiling fondly at her. No more silly attempts at poetry, no more horribly mangled songs, no more nicknames.

"You'll go on, my girl." She saw him smile, saw the tears in his eyes and tried to fight back her own. "You've always been brave."

"I don't feel brave." She hated how small her voice sounded. Small and weak and scared.

"You are." The words ended on a cough and Belle just nodded. It was how so much of their time together went. Her father speaking of the time _after_ , Belle denying it. Short visits. They were always short. He couldn't handle much these days and the nurses kept him sedated fairly well with morphine.

It was only three days after that conversation that her father was moved to Hospice care. They had done everything they could and when they came to him with another possibility, another experiment, her father had refused. Even the doctors hadn't been certain it would do anything for him. And so he had put his foot down and decided enough was enough.

He was going to die and he was going to do it on his own terms. If there was one thing the Frenches believed it was that no one else controlled their fates. Not some capricious god, not doctors, not anyone. And so her father chose how his life would end, kept comfortable in a bed at one of the more upscale hospice centers, attentive nurses granting his every wish.

Somehow seeing him there, unhooked from all the machines, lying in a bed in a quiet room filled with soothing music, was better. Harder in some ways, but he looked less ill in that room than he did at the hospital.

She knew it wasn't true.

She knew that he spent much of the day under the influence of the morphine they gave him to chase away the pain and anxiety, to ease his breathing. But his rest was easy and she was thankful for that much at least.

For some reason she couldn't quite fathom, Gold started to go with her. Almost every day she went, despite her car being fixed, he offered to drive her. He often stayed in the room with her, a silent presence in the corner. He didn't have to say anything. He usually didn't. And so she pretended she didn't know why he was really there.

He was there to pick up the pieces when her father passed on.

He was there because he _cared_.

He might pretend he didn't. He might try to play at being aloof with her, but when he didn't know she was looking, there was something in his eyes. Something deep, something soft, and yet dark at the same time. She wasn't sure she'd _ever_ understand the man. Every time she peeled back a layer, he grabbed it out of her hands and pulled it back up over himself. But there were always holes in the layers, always little bits she could see through to the man beneath.

She wouldn't quite say he was letting her in. But she was wiggling her way in through those holes little by little, until he got used to her presence, until he got used to the layer being weakened, seen through.

"Thank you," she said on the way home one time. Her father hadn't spoken much that day, the exhaustion weighing him down. Instead, she and Gold had sat quietly, holding vigil at his bedside.

"It's no matter," Gold responded with, his voice soft.

"It _is_ ," she insisted. "You don't have to come with me." The latter she had pointed out any number of times and usually received nothing more than a shrug.

"I do." His voice was insistent.

Belle turned to him and watched him for a moment, saw the way his hands gripped the steering wheel, hard, white-knuckled. "Why?"

She could see him swallow and his eyes hardened slightly. "I don't know."

She supposed that answer had to be good enough for now.

* * *

It was the middle of one of the rare afternoons that Gold left Belle at the hospice with her father. He was usually there, somewhere in the background, always watching, always there to make sure she got home safe. He didn't even entirely understand _why_ he did it. He just knew he had to.

And that spoke to things he wasn't entirely comfortable admitting. Not to her. Not even to himself. So instead he just ignored whatever it was that was there and got on about his day. Even if it made some small part of his cold dead heart hurt to see her watching her father slip away little by little.

He was tending to the sheep, making his careful way around the barn, when he heard a sharp bark come from Taz. He didn't even have to look up to know what the small amount of commotion was about. "What can I do for you, Mr. Nolan?" he asked before the man even made it around the corner.

"How do you _do_ that?" David asked and Gold just smirked.

"I don't know…magic?" he offered up.

David shook his head. "You _would_ be the evil sorcerer in a fantasy novel, wouldn't you?"

Gold gave a snort of laughter. "And you the fair prince." He said the last with a small flourish of his hand and then turned back to pouring water in the trough for his sheep. David remained quiet for a moment and Gold finally turned back to him. " _Did_ you need something?"

"She's exhausted, you know."

He had to fight to not roll his eyes. "I'm aware of that." His voice was tight when he responded. Of course he knew that. He was the one who drove her to the hospice center every day. He was the one who brought her back, watched her crawl off to bed with dead eyes. He was the one who saw the anger she tried so very hard to hide from her father, anger that he understood. He had raged against the fates on any number of occasions, after all, desperate to get his son back, desperate to get his life back after the car accident that shattered his ankle and foot. It did no good. And he wished he could tell her that.

But he wouldn't.

He _couldn't_.

She would find out herself. And he was sure that day would break her.

He watched as David made some sort of annoyed noise back in his throat and ran his fingers through his hair. He knew that look all too well, had seen it any number of times. "Look, Mary Margaret called her yesterday."

"I don't need your advice," Gold cut him off with. Always well-meaning, he was sure, but David had a habit of offering advice that he really did not need.

“Too bad,” David responded with and Gold was surprised by the man’s smirk. David Nolan did not smirk. He was open, honest to a fault. One of the good guys that Gold could never hope to be. But here he was playing him at his own game.

Gold sighed.

_And winning_.

“Fine,” he snapped at the other man. “But be quick about it. I have things to do.”

“She needs a break.”

“From me?”

David shook his head. "No. She needs a break from _thinking_."

"What?" Sometimes he just couldn’t quite figure out how the man’s brain worked. He probably didn’t want to know, really. But still, it was moments like these that had him scratching his head.

“What does she do every night?” David asked, arms crossing over his chest.

“She has dinner and retreats to her room. How do I know what she does up there?” He knew. Of course he knew. She read. She cried. Sometimes he heard the muffled cries and stood outside her door, one hand ready to knock, before retreating in frustration. He had no idea what to do with a crying woman and certainly not when the strongest woman he’d ever met broke down. And so he retreated as well, finding himself listening to the likes of Schoenberg, Webern, Boulez. Composer from the twentieth century whose harsh music chased away his own anger, took his rage and turned it into sound, something external.

"Exactly," David said and the smirk on his face told Gold exactly how proud of his little bit of advice the man was.

"Exactly?"

David nodded. "She spends the whole night thinking…"

"Reading," Gold pointed out. "She _reads_." Different worlds, different lives. Reading was as much an escape as anything else. He should know that. He had often escaped into the dark worlds of Welsh, Satre, or even Kafka. He suspected Belle's reading was not quite so dark and likely more of an escape than those moments were for him.

David just shook his head. "A night out, Gold. Just think about it." And then he turned and walked off.

Gold wanted to shout at him, demand that he come back, tell him to never ever show his face in his barn again.

But he knew the truth.

He knew the damned man was right. Belle was shrinking more and more into herself. He could see it. He was almost sure her father could see it. A few of the times he had been there with her, with her father, the man had given him a knowing look, a small nod.

He wanted him to take care of her, to make sure his little girl had someone there for her.

And _he_ was his choice. No one in their right mind would choose Tavish Gold to look after their daughter when they were gone. The courts hadn't trusted him to look after his own son, after all, had instead given custody over to a teary-eyed Milah and her new paramour. And it wasn't even a case of "the woman always wins these things" as his lawyer had insisted on. No, he knew the truth. They had taken one look at the solitary Gold, living out on his sheep farm, and refused to believe he could ever be a good father.

He wasn't good for Belle either, her father's seeming trust in him entirely misplaced.

There had been many times, far _too_ many times, really, when he had been kicked while he was already down. Abandoned by his father, abandoned by his wife, both with harsh words and sometimes harsh hands.

He wasn't good for anyone. Except his sheep and his dogs and his lonely little farm.

* * *

He picked her up right on time, as he did every day that he left her there. Belle had actually been surprised when he dropped her off and told her there were things he had to take care of. He was still shut down and sometimes it seemed he was even more so the more time he spent with her at the hospital. He often came in with a grim look about his face, lines around his mouth that she hadn't seen before.

They were always quiet on their way back, whether or not he had been there all day with her. She never knew what to say. A simple thank you was probably not enough. And he always seemed somewhat awkward about the whole thing.

He wasn't used to caring.

And she was _sure_ he cared about her.

He could have sent her to the hospital on her own. He could have docked her pay. He could have allowed her father to die in the worst of hospice care or in the hospital. But he didn't. He paid for it all behind her back, acted like it was nothing. And perhaps the money _was_ nothing to him. But it was the fact that he did it, the fact that he cared enough to even do it on his own.

There was _something_ there. Even if he wasn't ready to admit it.

Or at least she thought he wasn't.

When they arrived at the house and he opened the door for her, as he so often did, she started to head upstairs. It was their nightly ritual. A quiet ride home and a parting of ways. They had said less to each other in the past few weeks than they had the entire time before.

But this time he stopped her with a gentle hand on her wrist. She turned back, eyebrows up and just gave him a look. She didn't need to say anything else, after all.

He gave her a sheepish look and for a moment a strange look passed over his face. "Goodnight, Miss French."

She cocked her head slightly to the side, watched him. "Goodnight Gold."

When he released her and she turned to leave, he spoke again. "Wait."

"Yes?" She said as she glanced back over her shoulder.

He said nothing for a moment, just stood with one hand on his cane, the other making strange patterns across the banister he was holding onto. "Tomorrow night," he started to say, but then the words seemed to catch in his throat.

Belle just nodded and gave him time to speak. Whatever he had to say wasn't easy for him, that much was obvious, and she felt her heart sink just a little bit.

He took a deep breath and met her eyes. "I think we should go out somewhere." And then his eyes slid away from hers and Belle felt the breath go out of her.

"Like on a date?" Gold's head shot up and she realized she might have over-stepped her bounds there a bit, might have made an assumption. "Or…not…"

"Yes," he said quickly and she watched as the hand on the banister gripped it tightly, knuckles slightly white. "Yes, exactly." The words were firmer that time, though his eyes slid away from hers, and Belle found herself smiling.

She reached out a hand, cupped his cheek briefly. "I'd like that." She left him there then, retreating to her room as she did most nights. She just had a feeling that he needed the time alone. That bit of bravery was sure to cost him.

She just hoped he didn't second guess himself come morning.


	21. Chapter 21

The pounding on the door came sometime toward midnight. Snow rolled over in bed and hit him on the shoulder. "David, what the hell is that?"

He rolled his eyes, even though it was dark and he knew she couldn't see him. There was no doubt, none at all, as to who would show up at his house near midnight sounding like a herd of elephants. "Gold," he muttered.

"Oh _God_ ," Mary Margaret uttered and pulled the covers back up over herself. "Wake me when it's over."

David managed to get himself out of bed a moment later, grabbing a robe and wrapping it around his shirtless upper body. He felt like he needed _some_ sort of armor against the man and standing there with his chest bare in front of him just felt…awkward at best.

When he threw the door open, he found Gold leaning heavily against the door frame, his hair sticking out on end, his eyes squinting at the sudden light. "This is all your fault." The words were spoken with an accent thicker than David was used to hearing from him.

"Have you been drinking?"

Gold thrust a finger out toward David and nearly lost his balance, gripping the doorframe hard with the hand holding his cane. "No," he finally managed to say. David crossed his arms over his chest. "Ok maybe a little." The words were accompanied by a bit of a self-deprecating smile.

"So exactly _what_ is my fault again?"

"Can I come in?" Gold responded with.

"No."

"Fine then," Gold said and he was almost sure that he would turn and walk off. He was admittedly relieved at the thought, but at the same time he was sure that Mary Margaret, annoyed though she might be, would send him right out into the night after the man.

"What is going on?" David finally asked as Gold slumped against the door frame.

"You made me do it," Gold pointed out, almost reasonably, as if he expected David to know exactly what he was on about.

"Do _what_ exactly?"

"You know." And another finger was pointed at him.

"Humor me for a moment." He tried to keep the exasperated tone from his voice, but he wasn't quite sure he succeeded. "Pretend I'm a complete idiot…"

"You are," Gold shot back.

"I know you don't mean that," David responded with. Gold might often act like that, might treat David like he was a recalcitrant child. But he knew there was more behind the sarcasm than others might think. It was why he accepted him, sarcastic rejoinders, occasional nastiness and all.

"Whatever," Gold said with a wave of his hand. David just stood with his arms across his chest, waiting. Then finally… "You made me ask her out."

"What?" The word exploded from him before he could stop it. "You asked her out…on a _date_?"

Gold narrowed his eyes on him. "Just like you told me to…"

"Oh no, you can't pin this one on me. I told you to get her out of the house. I did _not_ tell you to ask her on a date." At that David paused and he couldn't stop the grin breaking out on his face. "So she said no then?"

Gold growled something entirely incoherent. And David just smiled. He hadn’t expected the bastard to actually ask her _out_ , but it sounded like the end result was a good one for all involved.

"So why are you here complaining again?" he asked after Gold seemed unwilling to say anything further. The man was a contradiction at all times. He always expected him to react one way. The normal way. The way everyone else would. It was clear he was crazy about Belle French. It was written into everything he did. The way he moved around her. The way he spoke of her. Even the way he _didn’t_ speak of her, carefully, as if he was afraid to wear his heart on his sleeve.

And he was fairly certain that she felt the same way. So if his accidentally getting Gold to ask her out led to, well, whatever it might lead to, he couldn’t be happier.

“Because,” Gold began, the word trailing off in another coherent growl.

“Go home, Mr. Gold,” came the voice from behind him and he turned to see Mary Margaret standing there. He didn’t quite know how she managed to look both annoyed and amused at the same time, but somehow she managed it rather well. Even in the middle of the night, holding baby Emma on her hip. She was amazing, this wife of his, and there were days he never quite understood how she ended up falling in love with a stodgy sheep farmer.

“I…” Gold started, one hand raised.

And then he turned and walked off.

Just like that.

David turned to look back at Mary Margaret. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“Apparently even drunk bastards listen to me.” She sounded smug. “What _was_ that about anyway?” she asked as they turned to walk back inside.

“He asked Belle out on a date.”

Mary Margaret paused for a moment. “Well, it’s about time.”

David let out a laugh as he shut the door behind them.

* * *

Belle couldn’t quite be certain that Gold had _meant_ that he wanted to go out on a real date. He had seemed caught between admitting that was what he wanted and running. The latter seemed so much more likely. She suspected he had been running for a long time. From feelings, from love, from anything except his dogs and sheep. He ran when they kissed. He ran when they nearly had sex.

The night before she had heard him leave the house and she had been so very sure that he had run again.

But it was his house.

And he came back, steps unsteady. She suspected he had been drinking and she hoped that somehow whatever demons had possessed him allowed him a little freedom for that night. She suspected that even a short time would bring him much needed relief.

So when she set to getting ready that next evening, she wasn’t sure what to expect. She wasn’t even sure he would _be_ there by the time she finished making herself presentable. So far he had disappeared every time she attempted to get closer to him, every time something happened that led to a bit of intimacy.

But he was there when she came downstairs, waiting in the living room. He turned when she walked in and she hesitated when he said nothing, simply stared for a moment. And then finally… "Hey."

"Hey?" She felt a little laughter bubble up. "Is that all I get?" She kept her voice purposely teasing. She didn't want to scare him off and she _knew_ that would be all too easy to do.

"I…"

Belle shook her head and laughed lightly. "I'm just teasing, Tavish." She stepped closer, put one hand on his arm. "Relax," she whispered. "I don't bite." She let the last thought hang, let the implication of _unless you want me to_ hang in the air.

"Right. Of course." He put his hand over hers briefly. "Shall we then?"

Belle offered up a somewhat awkward curtsey. "Yes we shall."

It was a good start, she realized. Awkward, a little bit odd, but a good start nonetheless. Gold escorted her to his truck and gave it a somewhat rueful look. "I'm sorry this is all I have."

"It's perfect," she responded with as he helped her in and retreated to his side of the vehicle. She didn't need fancy cars, some sort of Porsche or Cadillac. She was content with Gold's old pick-up truck. She'd even be content with Granny's Diner, though he drove right past it without sparing it a glance.

They ultimately ended up at a small Italian restaurant on the outskirts of town. Belle had never even noticed it, though she was sure she had driven past it any number of times. It was small and set back from the road a bit, the sign a little tilted, a little rusty. When he stopped in front of the place, she turned toward him and just raised one eyebrow.

"The atmosphere isn't much but trust me, the food's delicious and the service is the best you'll get in town." He looked almost sheepish as he spoke.

"There's no need to apologize," Belle pointed out.

“Right,” he answered with and the smile he gave her melted her insides just a little. Well, maybe more than a little. She still had no idea what they were doing here, no idea what was going on exactly. But she was just going to take it as it came.

The hostess seated them almost immediately. There were no reservations at the little restaurant, but it also seemed to be mostly empty, just a few people at one table and a couple far in the back. Gold’s explanation of _They do take-out_ was an interesting one. He looked sheepish, nervous, as if he were taking her to a place that she’d run screaming from.

But Belle was not a high society girl, not by a long-shot. She had grown up middle-class and ended up poor. Even going out to a restaurant was a luxury she and her father hadn’t been able to afford in a long time.

“It’s lovely,” she finally said and gave him a pointed look.

“I’m glad.” And he looked visibly relieved at the words. The waitress came and took their order. Gold suggested a Merlot and Belle was all too happy to indulge a little bit. She wasn’t generally much of a drinker, trips to The Rabbit Hole excepted, but it seemed like a good idea. Liquid courage and all that.

She was sure he needed it too.

He looked like he was turning a bit green around the gills after he asked her, after all.

The waitress returned with their wine much faster than Belle had anticipated. She was still studying the menu. Decisions about food had never been her strong suit. She gave Gold a bit of a sheepish look. “I’m afraid I like food just a little bit too much.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” he said offhandedly and she laughed.

“Well, I suppose that’s a good thing.” She leaned forward. “Probably all that time on the farm doing chores helps.”

“Indeed,” was his quick response and she was almost sure that there was a bit of a pink tint to his cheeks, though she was sure he’d deny that.

“Appetizer?” the waitress suggested and Belle turned to find her watching them with a bit of an amused glint in her eyes. Belle wanted to point out it was a first date, if that was indeed what it was, but she suspected the waitress knew.

“I…” Belle started to say.

“Calamari?” Gold suggested, glancing down at the menu for a moment before letting his eyes meet hers.

“Squid?” Belle shot back with, her nose crinkling up a little bit.

“Have you ever had it?” There was a smirk on his face and she was sure there was a bit of a dare behind his words.

“Well, no.”

“Then calamari it is.” He waved one hand gracefully in the air and the waitress left with grin on her face.

“Really?” Belle asked.

“Really,” Gold responded with. “Don’t tell me you’re someone who doesn’t like a bit of an adventure.”

“Not with my food.” And then she paused. “Well, not usually. Or sometimes, at least. I did once try chocolate-covered ants,” she admitted.

“Then squid should be nothing.”

Her smirk echoed his own as she leaned back and took a sip of her wine. “So…” she said after a moment of silence.

“So,” he responded with.

Belle gave a little huff of laughter. “This is awkward.”

“First dates often are.” And she loved the way he looked almost shocked when he spoke it out loud.

“So this _is_ a date then?”

“I guess so?”

“For the person asking me out, you sure seem rather unclear on what this _is_ exactly.”

He took a moment to respond and when he did, there was a truth behind his words that made her heart flip. “I am.” She wasn’t quite sure he was talking about their date at that moment.

The waitress chose that moment to return and took their orders, disappearing again and leaving them in silence. Belle bit her lip and looked around the room before talking. “So tell me about yourself.”

Gold gave a snort but didn’t respond.

“Isn’t that the way things are supposed to start on dates?” she asked and batted her eyelashes.

“So you’ve been on a lot of dates then?” he shot back.

“Hardly.” The word was flat, but not annoyed. She had gone on a few over the years, usually with men she had no interest in but felt obligated to go out with. Boorish types who yawned when she spoke of the books she was reading and who often brought the conversation back to their favorite topic…themselves. “But I’ve seen enough movies to know how they’re supposed to go.”

“I don’t think there’s any standard way, really.”

“So you’ve been on a lot then?” She asked it innocently, but a part of her wondered. He kept everything to himself, kept his personal life close to his vest, so to speak. He would share things about his life growing up, about his dogs and the dogs he had had once had, silly stories about sheep and herding gone wrong. But anything else seemed to shut him down immediately.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, just a small gesture. “No,” he finally said.

Belle leaned forward and put her hand over his. “Don’t go quiet on me now.” The words were firm, but gentle at the same time. “I’m not going to run if you tell me the truth.”

His eyes met hers for a moment before sliding away. “I haven’t been out with a woman…since my divorce.” The last was said in a rush and he pulled back slightly.

“I didn’t know you’d been married,” Belle finally managed to get out. There were secrets there, a pain that he wasn’t quite able to hide.

“Yes, well, I don’t think many do.” He tried to be flippant about it, waving one hand in the air, but the creases at the corner of his eyes, the furrow between his brows, told a different story.

“Unhappy?” He didn’t respond right away and Belle bit her lip. She had said the wrong thing. Again. She started to apologize when he held up a hand.

"Torturous." It was just one simple word but it said everything. She didn't need to ask more, really.

"I'm sorry," she finally managed to say. "I'm prying, aren't I?"

He gave her a tight smile. "I think that's what dates are for, aren't they?" It was a deflection. That much she was certain of. But she didn't dare ask more. Though if she could admit it to herself, the word did leave her _curious_. And a curious Belle was often a dangerous thing. It made her want to plow ahead, to ask more, to peel back all the layers and find out what lay in the heart beneath it all.

She couldn't quite say anyone else had made her feel so desperate to peel back those layers.

"Yes, well, I suppose they are," she said instead of all the other things she wanted to say at that moment. Belle breathed a sigh of relief when the waitress appeared with their meals, disrupting the moment and dissolving the tension. With something else to focus on, the conversation turned lighter.

To dogs.

To silly childhood anecdotes.

To life ambitions. “I wanted to be an astronaut,” Belle admitted, scrunching up her nose.

“What stopped you?” Gold asked, leaning forward.

“Math,” she said with a bit of a self-deprecating grin. “I was lucky to be able to add two and two together to come up with four.”

“It’s five,” he shot back and when she stared at him for a moment, his face broke out into a smirk.

“I almost believed you.”

“I highly doubt that.” One of his eyebrows rose and she giggled. _Giggled_. She glanced down at her wine glass, worried that perhaps it was getting to her, that maybe she had drunk just a little bit too much.

“I wanted to be a trash collector.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “No.” And then she laughed again.

“What are you laughing at? I’m serious.”

“Really?” Tavish Gold, trash collector. She couldn’t quite imagine it.

“Yes, really. I used to go around the farm picking up any bits of trash I found and admonishing my aunts on their messy ways.”

She let out a short bark of laughter. “They must have _loved_ that.”

“They did, actually. They had imagined taking on a young boy would mean messes everywhere. But for a time at least, I was the neatest person in the entire household.”

“For a time?”

“Well, I decided I wanted to be a chemist after a few short months and…well…”

“Messes everywhere,” she finished for him.

It felt good to laugh, she realized, as the waitress came to clear away their meals and box up what was left. She wasn’t sure she had laughed in a very long time, her mind too frantic with worry over her father. Taking another sip of her wine, she realized that _this_ was why he had taken her out.

“Was this a pity date?” Belle finally managed to get out.

“What?”

“A pity date. You know, you take me out because you feel sorry for me? Because my father’s…”

“No,” he interrupted her with. “I don’t do pity dates.” He paused there and she watched him close his eyes for a moment. “Truth be told, I don’t do _dates_. I haven’t done dates in a very long time.”

There was an honesty there, raw and exposed, behind the words, behind his eyes. He didn’t blink, didn’t look away. “How long?” She couldn’t stop the words, curious and likely painful for him.

She was sure he wasn’t going to answer but he finally sighed. “We divorced eight years ago. It seems longer though. She was gone in every way that counted long before then.” There was silence after the words and she could feel him pulling away slightly, could see the distance starting to form between them.

When she reached out a hand and covered his, his eyes flashed to hers. "I…" she started to say. But what _could_ she say? _I'm sorry_ seemed rather inadequate. She had no understanding of where he had come from, what had happened, but there was a story there. A harsh one. A story that she knew he didn't want to tell. She could see the plea behind his eyes. "There must have been something happy?"

"My son," he answered and the way his eyes widened slightly told her he hadn't intended to tell her that much.

"You have son?" There were no traces around the house of him, so signs that a child had ever been there, no pictures of him. She had lived there for some time now and she had simply seen _nothing_ that indicated there was a child.

He nodded and there was a tightness about his mouth that told the whole story. “He’s going to be eleven soon.”

“I had no idea.”

She watched as his fist clenched. “Maybe we should discuss something else…”

“She took him from you,” she cut him off with. She hadn’t meant to, but the words slipped out before she could stop them.

“Yes.” Just one simple word but it told of a world of pain.

She glanced down at her hands for a moment, drew in a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be asking these questions.”

He was silent for a moment. “His name is Baeddan.”

“That’s a lovely name.”

He gave a little snort of laughter. “My ex hated it.”

“Well, her loss then.” She reached over and touched his hand lightly again. They fell into silence and Belle wasn’t quite sure if it was a companionable one or somewhat awkward. Maybe it was a bit of both. Gold sipped at his wine and didn’t meet her eyes. Belle eyed the dessert menu even though she had no intention of ordering something. She had already eaten so much that she was sure he’d have to roll her home.

The waitress arrived and thankfully offered up boxes and a check. She shouldn’t feel relieved. She _shouldn’t_. It was a date and she enjoyed spending time with Gold. But the turn of conversation had her holding her breath and waiting for disaster to fall at any moment, waiting for him to get up and leave, waiting for him to tell her this was a stupid mistake.

It wasn’t though.

She realized it as he stood and offered her his arm with a small smile. She realized it as he escorted her to the waiting truck and opened the door for her. His old world charm, his small smiles. No. This wasn’t a stupid mistake.

It might just be the beginning of _something_.

When they arrived at the house, Belle turned to him with one eyebrow raised. “Well, this is somewhat awkward.”

“Is it now?” There was a small smile playing about his lips and she watched one eyebrow twitch just slightly.

“You’re supposed to walk me to the door and we’re supposed to hesitate and debate over ending the night with a kiss or a hug.”

“I see.”

“But we live together, so…” She gave a small shrug.

“Yes that does complicate things a bit.”

“It does.” She nodded sagely and tried to keep her mouth from turning up in a smile.

“Then perhaps allow me to walk you to your room?” he offered up.

“Why Mr. Gold,” she said and put her hand over her heart. “I’m not _that_ kind of girl.” He simply raised one eyebrow and she finally broke, laughter bubbling out from her. “Well, perhaps I could be talked _into_ being that kind of girl.”

“Really then?” He took a step closer and she stepped back, leaning against the door as he leaned in.

“Really.” And her voice had turned husky, almost unrecognizable even to her own ears. His hand came up and brushed the hair away from her neck and she shivered just slightly.

He leaned in then and his lips met hers, soft, gentle. It lacked the hard passion of their previous kisses but made up for that completely with the way his lips brushed softly against hers. He pulled back and unlocked the door and she felt that flutter starting low in her belly again.

_Would he?_

_After everything?_

He led her inside and reached up again, his hand brushing her hair lightly. “Far be it for me to be the one to corrupt you in such a way.” The words were soft, but she heard the humor behind the lilt. “I had a lovely evening, Belle.”

“As did I.” She reached up and covered his hand with hers and was delighted when he brought to his lips, placing a soft, chaste kiss on the back of her hand.

“Perhaps…well…perhaps we could do this again sometime?” The way his voice hesitated, the way he stammered over the words just slightly was charming. He was always so confident, always had the upper hand. She bit her lip and tried to hold back her smile as she realized that _she_ was in control this time.

“I think that could be arranged,” she finally answered.

“Well good…good then.” He paused for a moment, turned away briefly before reaching out to cup her cheek for just one moment. “Then I shall bid you goodnight.”

She was left watching his retreating back. But at least this time, things ended on a good note. He wasn’t retreating, running scared after things got too intimate. He was simply ending what was ultimately an excellent date on a positive note.

“Goodnight Tavish.” She spoke the words quietly as she turned and headed up the stairs.


	22. Chapter 22

The next morning should have felt awkward. He was sure of that much at least. The last time he had been on a date was approximately a hundred years ago and he was sure it hadn’t really gone well. Not that he could remember. He wasn’t sure if he had blocked the memory out or if it had just really been that long.

Maybe a combination of the two.

When he walked downstairs, though, he found Belle already in the kitchen, humming as she tossed a bit of butter into a pan and pulled the eggs out of the refrigerator. She didn’t seem concerned, worried, anything. She was just…herself.

And he didn’t know why that surprised him, really. He expected _It’s a mistake, Gold_. Or maybe _I’d like to go home now, Gold_.

Instead, she turned when she heard the sound of his cane on the ground and gave him a brilliant smile. "I thought I'd make us breakfast."

He paused just inside the door and tried to keep from staring at her. It didn't work though and her nose wrinkled just a little bit as she looked at him. "I…" he started to say and no, that wasn't going to come out right. He was sure of it. “Thank you,” he finally managed to get out and sat at the small table.

Belle just nodded, smiled, and turned away to continue her preparations. He watched. He didn’t know what else to do, really. This whole thing was odd, left him feeling slightly unsettled at the same time he felt content and…dare he even think it?...happy.

_She_ made him happy, he realized. And that was more than just a revelation to him. It was shocking and left his mind reeling. There was a part of him that wanted to pull back immediately. She was getting too close, too soon, too _much_. He had invited her into his home and she had simply taken over like she had always been there. Like she _belonged_ there.

_Yes_.

That was the problem. Well, not a _problem_ exactly. But when she left, and she inevitably would, his home would feel cold and empty without her presence.

He should push her away.

Now. Before he got in even deeper than he already was.

But when he thought about that, he felt a darkness creep into his heart and he knew he couldn’t do it. That he didn’t _want_ to do it.

“What are you thinking about?” Belle asked as she sat down at his side. Her head was cocked slightly to the side, a small furrow between her brows.

“Sorry,” he said quickly. No answer to her question, to be sure, but he wasn’t sure _what_ to say really.

“For?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. Nevermind. Breakfast?”

She bit her lip as she smiled and he felt that go straight to places he probably should not be thinking about. Why exactly did he think he could date the woman who lived with him? It was insanity to be sure.

“Coming right up.” She bounced up and he was positive she wasn’t quite sure how to act either.

He stood then, followed her to the stove, almost wrapped his arms around her before letting them just dangle uselessly at his side. “I had a good time last night.”

She turned back to him then and she was too close, too _there_. He wanted to skitter back. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and never let her go. Instead he just stood there, watching her, unsure of himself.

When she put a hand on his arm, he released the breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"I had a good time too."

He nodded and she turned away. It was a moment, at least. She didn’t regret the date. He didn’t regret it.

Quite frankly, that terrified him more than just a little bit.

* * *

They were already on their way to the hospital when the call came. There are some things you never _ever_ want to hear from the other end of the line when you pick up the phone and a nurse telling you that your father has gone into a coma and they don’t think he’ll come out and this is probably the end is certainly high at the top of that list.

She glanced at Gold as the nurse spoke to her and she watched as his hands tightened on the wheel, could feel him pick up speed.

“You don’t have to drive this fast…”

“I do,” he interrupted with.

She just nodded. What else could she say? She knew she’d regret it for the rest of her life if she didn’t make it there on time, if she wasn’t there to hold his hand and tell him she loved him one last time. She hadn’t been there when her mother died. She’d been sent off to her grandparents when her mother was taken to the hospital. She’d simply been too _young_ to really understand. Or at least, that was what the adults had told her.

But she knew.

And she always wished she could have been there in those last moments, even if it was awful and heartbreaking and sad.

But she _could_ be there for her father. Even if she wasn’t ready.

They made it there on time, the nurses rushing them back to him before she even had to say a word.

The room was strangely quiet and it took her a moment to realize that they had unhooked the machines from him. He lay alone now in the bed, his presence diminished, his eyes shut. He looked thinner, smaller, just a large presence that had faded to almost nothing, surrounded by too much sterilized white.

“Papa,” she whispered and she took his hand in hers. He didn’t open his eyes but she was sure she felt him twitch, a small attempt at grasping her hand. It wasn’t much, but it was something. He knew she was there. At that moment in time that was all she could hope for, really.

“I’ll leave you two.” She turned away from her father briefly to see Gold standing close behind her. There were more lines about his face, eyebrows lower than usual.

“Please,” she started to say. Then… “Don’t.”

The lines between his eyes deepened for just a moment. “Of course.” He moved to sit quietly, somewhere behind her. She hoped he didn’t feel awkward, sitting there while she kept vigil at a dying man’s bedside.

* * *

It seemed like hours that she had sat there, talking quietly to her father, not expecting a response and not getting one. It surely must have been hours, though sometime later Gold told her it was just a little less than an hour from the time of their arrival to the end. But in that time, she was sure she had said everything that she needed to.

At the end, her father had opened his eyes just briefly. His hand had squeezed hers a little harder.

_Belle…_

She had been bending over his hand, still whispering, voice hoarse with the words she could no longer get out. Her head had shot up at the sound of her name. Weak, certainly, but still her father’s beloved voice.

_Papa…_

_I love you…_ The words had come out on a slight croak, but they were clear. She was sure she had heard them. _My child,_ he had gone on with and she could say nothing, think of nothing. She just focused on his eyes. Tired, she remember thinking later. He looked so tired. _I need to go see your Mama now_.

The tears had started then. She couldn’t help them. She had tried so very hard to be strong in that moment, tried to show him that she would be fine, that she could live without him, go on with her life, never forget everything he meant to her.

_Yes Papa,_ she had finally whispered. She was not ready. She would never be ready. How could she be ready? _Tell Mama I love her._

And then his eyes had closed.

And on a sigh he had left them.

Gold had been there. She hadn’t expected that, but when she turned he was at her side and she had flung herself into his arms, the tears finally allowed free reign.

Her Papa was gone.

The world would never be the same.

* * *

Everything seemed so disjointed over the next few days that she wasn’t sure she could have answered questions on what happened when during that time.

There had been arrangements to make and Gold had not allowed her to make them alone. He had been at her side every step of the way and she knew when her mind was more settled, she would have to think about all of that. His presence there comforted her and more than once he had been called her boyfriend, her partner, once even her husband. And he hadn’t once said a word against those people. He simply nodded, took what literature they gave him, told them to spare no expense.

Her father was to be cremated and someday, when she felt up to it, she would make the trip back home and spread his ashes in the same sea her mother’s had been spread in. Her father had loved her to his final moments, his only thoughts at the end of seeing her again.

Belle didn’t know what she believed, in Heaven or Hell or anything else, but she knew that in whatever afterlife there might be, her father was with her mother again at last. It had been all he’d really wanted, especially in those final days.

“I only wish I could have someone who loved me that much,” she had told Gold the first evening after her father passed on. His look at that moment had been unfathomable, eyes dark and focused.

“I think we all wish that,” he had finally said and she found herself nodding. He was lonely and she was sure no one had ever loved him like her father had loved her mother. She found that immeasurably sad. He deserved that love, the love of a woman who would never leave his side, who would never pull back no matter how dark his mood might get.

She had never had it either, she realized. She wondered if it were even possible. Her relationships had been few and far between, friends that she had fallen for and had miraculously felt the same way she did. There had been many more crushes that were not returned, men who looked past her and her sometimes odd devotion to her books and research.

Life had not been easy for Belle.

She knew that life wasn’t easy for Gold, either.

“You’ll find it Belle,” he had said and his voice sounded so serious, his use of her given name so unexpected and intimate, that he had at least lightened the heavy load on her heart for a moment. “I know you will.”

Gold had made sure the small memorial was all set up for her. There was no burial, no wake, no funeral. No one knew her father, save her and Gold. But her friends showed up. Ruby, Ariel, even Ruby’s grandmother had showed up and refrained from casting Gold any dark glances.

It was a simple, quiet affair held outdoors where the wind whipped around them and stole away their words before they could travel very far. Her father loved the outdoors. He loved his flowers and trees and nature. He had been a staunch outdoorsman when he was well, often taking long walks in nature, sailing, fishing. Anything that kept the wind in his hair and the smell of fresh air all around him.

She couldn’t imagine how much those last months in the hospital must have bothered him, nearly chained to a bed, seeing the same four plain white walls day after day. She wished she had tried harder to bring the outside into him. But at the time it hadn't seemed to matter. He was there. He was alive.

And then he wasn't.

"Belle," Ruby said as she approached. She cast an assessing glance at Gold before wrapping her arms around Belle briefly. "I'm so sorry. If you need anything…" She let the words trail off and Belle could well understand the implication behind the words. She meant well. Truly she did.

"Thank you," she responded with and hoped no one could hear how hoarse her voice was.

Ariel wished her well and shook Gold's hand. The bubbly red-head often seemed flighty, but she had a keen mind and an even keener observational sense. And the look she gave Gold was full of meaning, full of obvious intent. _If you hurt her…_

Gold simply inclined his head as Ariel and the others moved off. He stayed with Belle and her father's urn for what seemed like ages before she finally was able to move off. There were no tears. She hadn’t shed any since the moment he died.

There was an emptiness there, clawing at her insides. As if all the emotion had been somehow taken out of her, dumped into that urn alongside her father’s ashes. That was all that was left of him now, the great man who had been there for her since the day she was born, the man who had held her and comforted her and played dolls with her even if he didn’t quite know how to. Now he was reduced to nothing, just ashes, dust, little more than the dirt they stood on.

She was thankful that Gold picked up the urn, that she didn’t have to keep that reminder locked in her arms. She’d never be able to wrap them around her father again and holding that cold bit of ceramic just felt so very wrong.

“Are you ready?” Gold’s voice was soft in her ear.

It took a moment, but she finally managed to nod. “I think so.”

He led her away, like one would lead a child. Quiet, an arm about her waist, pulling her forward when she could barely put one foot in front of the other. She focused on that. First one foot, then the other, then another foot, the warmth of his arm at her back, the coolness of the breeze that was picking up.

There were storms in the distance, the clouds looking angry, dark, hanging low over them. She could barely hear the rumble of thunder, but it was there nonetheless. The perfect end to a dreadful day. Her father hated storms, always had. How utterly perfect that they should roll in on the day she bid him farewell.

* * *

He was worried about her. How could he not be? They had arrived back at the house and found David and Mary Margaret Nolan had been busy. The refrigerator was stocked full of food, carefully labeled and portioned out. There were pastries and other baked goods sitting in a Tupperware container on the counter. And a note that there was a meal in the oven, all they had to do was turn it on.

But Belle had no reaction to it. She simply stopped and stared at it and then turned away.

“You should eat,” he told her and he hated the way the words sounded coming out of his mouth. Like they were an admonishment, like she was a child. But he felt like he _had_ to take care of her. And he was certain she wasn’t eating, hadn’t been sure she’d eaten much of anything since the morning after their date. It had only been a few days, but he could already see that her cheeks were turning gaunt, her eyes looked larger in her face than before.

He was worried.

And that didn’t bode well on so many accounts.

“I’m not hungry,” she murmured. Her eyes were downcast, her voice soft. She would break apart if he said the wrong thing, that much he was sure of. And he was so very sure that he would say the wrong thing that he almost didn’t say anything else.

Almost…

“Belle, would your father want you to waste away like this?”

She looked at him then and her eyes were red-rimmed and dry. And then she got up. And walked out. Without one word.

“Belle, I’m sorry,” he tried to call after her, but she was gone. He just shut his eyes and slammed his fist down on the table. He knew better. But it didn’t stop the words from coming out of his mouth sometimes.  

* * *

He didn’t know how he ended up there, and he only realized where he was when his hand hit the door.

“Gold,” David Nolan said as he opened the door. For once he didn’t see annoyed to find him standing on his doorstep. “How’s Belle?”

He shook his head. “She left.”

“Left?”

“I said the wrong thing. And she left.”

David gave him a crooked grin and for a moment he wanted to punch him. Just take his cane and smack the younger man across his insolent little face. But he did no such thing. Instead he offered a shrug, palms up.

“I doubt she left for good,” David pointed out.

“But…”

“Look, man, she’s hurting. Her father just died. Do you know what that’s like?” He was giving him _that_ look, the one that said that he should since he was so much older than David.

“I hated my father.”

“Your mother…”

“Died when I was too young to know her.” There was a world of hurt there and he didn’t relish showing those old war wounds to anyone, much less sunny David Nolan.

“Well, _I_ do.”

Gold’s head shot up at the words. “You?”

He watched the other man’s expression break for another moment. “My mother died a week before our wedding.”

Gold should have known that detail, he realized. He prided himself on knowing such things about those who were around him. “Ah…”

“So listen. She’ll be back. She probably needed some time to think or cry. You’re not exactly the warmest person…”

“I try to be,” Gold snapped back.

“Really?”

“Well…” No, not really, he realized. He tried to push people away. He _wanted_ to be warm, with Belle at least. But he found that the closer they got, the more he tried to push himself away from what almost seemed inevitable. It would be ridiculous for him to even say he wasn’t ready. It had been years, almost a decade, since he had had any form of female companionship. He should be more than ready.

And yet still the sting was there, the harsh words, the insults. He still remembered the flash of fire in Milah’s eyes, and worse, still remembered the feel of her hand colliding harshly with his cheek, the thrown boot that hit the side of his face.

“You’re not,” David pointed out and Gold brought himself forcefully back to the conversation.

“You really think she’ll be back?”

David reached out to put a hand on his shoulder and he flinched back, leaving the other man’s hand dangling in the air. It was an automatic reaction, really. One that he had never been able to fight back.

“She will. Just…go home and wait her out. She has a lot of pain inside her right now.”

Gold nodded. Leave it to David to know just the right words to say. If someone held a gun to his head he wouldn’t admit it, but he had come to view the other man as something close to a friend, someone who he could rely on. David had a cool head and a big heart, neither of which Gold had and both of which he respected.

And he was right.

When he walked in the door to his place, Belle was back. He breathed a sigh of relief until she stepped out of the shadows and dropped the robe she was wearing.

“Belle,” he whispered. “What are you doing?”

She wasn’t naked, though in a way the negligee she was wearing was far sexier than had she simply been standing before him wearing nothing. Not that she wasn’t gorgeous, but somehow leaving things covered, leaving things for him to strip away and uncover, was that much more titillating.

"I need you." The words came out on a hoarse whisper and he found himself drawn toward her, could not stop until he was standing directly in front of her.

"Belle," he said again and watched as she shivered slightly. Her arms came up and draped around his neck and without any warning her lips were on his.

He didn't know what he expected in that moment, but the searing heat of her mouth, the feel of her hands in his hair, stopped all rational though. He found himself kissing her back, his arms wrapping tight around her waist, hauling her in close to him.

He wanted to.

Oh, but he wanted to.

Years of pain and anger and hate followed by years of nothing had left their mark. He had been abandoned. By everyone. By his father. By his wife. Even by his mother, though his rational side said he couldn’t blame her for that. The not so rational side whispered the stories he heard others tell when they thought he wasn't listening. That she didn't take care of herself, that she didn't want the baby, that she didn't ask the midwife to stem the bleeding and save her. Who would want such a child? The son of a cheat, a coward, the son of a man who all loathed and thought beneath them.

It all culminated in _this_. Unable to pull away. Unable to press forward. He allowed himself to wrap his arms around her for a moment, lost in the small sounds she was making, the soft feel of her in his arms. She felt… _right_ …there. Like no one else did.

And yet it couldn't last.

It never did.

He pulled back slightly, arms still around her, her hands still tangled in his hair. "Belle," he whispered and her eyes opened.

"You make me feel," she said.

He blinked once. Again.

"I need to feel something, Tavish. I'm so numb." She moved forward again and this time he was able to step completely back, disengaging.

"Not like this, Belle," he said and his voice was harsh, breathing still heavy. It was hard to get the words out, words he didn't want to say.

"Tavish?" Her voice was small and her eyes were watery as she looked up at him.

"I'll not have you like this."

“Like…” He was sure she hadn’t been drinking, couldn’t smell any alcohol on her, but her mind was not all there and her thoughts were obviously muddled.

“ _This_ ,” he said and the word came out harsher than he intended. “You don’t need _this_. You’re grieving, Belle.”

She just nodded at the words and he wrapped his arms around her, held her tight. He could feel her shaking in his arms, the tears that she had been fighting back coming. And he wasn’t sure if she was crying for loss of her father at that moment or because of his refusal. Pulling back slightly, he framed her face in his hands, searched her eyes as they finally met his.

“I do want you,” he said and was pleased to see the words making her smile through the tears. “But when you’re fully invested. When you’re all here.”

He pulled her close again. It was a promise. He could at least offer her that much. He wanted to. He wasn’t sure if his mind would allow him to let go enough but _oh_ how he wanted to. To be close to her, to hear her moan his name, to watch her come undone again and know it was _him_ that caused such a beautiful thing. He wanted it. He _needed_ it.

Perhaps like he never had before.

“Will you…” He could feel her take a deep breath, her chest expanding against his. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

“Of course.” He could, really, deny her nothing at this point. Her pain was his pain and it caused his chest to tighten when he saw the way she nodded and the small quirking of her lips on one side. He let her lead him to her bedroom. Hers this time, not his. Perhaps she wanted to feel safe, surrounded by her things, in her own place in the house. It didn’t matter, really. And so he allowed her to draw him into the room.

He didn’t even bother to get undressed, save pulling off his belt, before he crawled under the covers with her. She was with him in an instant, curling into his arms as he lay on his back, her head coming to rest on his chest, one arm draped across him.

It felt…strange…being there. And yet right somehow. It felt like…home. And for once, that thought didn’t make him uncomfortable.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, a HUGE thank you to everyone who has stuck with me through this story so far. I'm sorry there has been such a long time between posting chapters. Between RCIJ and some things going on in my life, I just found to hard to write. But hopefully updates will come more frequently now!

The morning after Belle had brought Gold into her room, the morning after she tried to unsuccessfully seduce him, had been awkward to say the least. She had risen first and escaped to the shower before he was even awake. When she had gotten out, he was gone. She had found him downstairs making them a simple breakfast and had watched him somewhat warily, waiting for him to push her away, waiting for him to want to _talk_ about last night.

She had known she was out of line, that she was doing something stupid and rash even while doing it. She didn’t need a lecture.

And she didn’t get one.

He was kind to her, no harsh words, just small smiles. They tip-toed around each other a bit over the next couple weeks, trying to fall back into a normalcy that Belle appreciated, even if she couldn’t quite feel normal. Probably would _never_ feel normal again.

But they at least fell back into their routine, mucking out stalls, training Bandit to herd. Her focus was not extraordinary, but Gold was patient with her and when she would start to cry in the middle of a lesson, he would simply offer to hold her.

The comfort was more than she ever expected.

The lessons had ended after a particularly bad one, when she had yelled at Bandit for doing the wrong thing, when she had ended up a sobbing mess in the mud at the base of the hill. Gold had been taking care of getting the sheep in and Belle was doing little more than helping to keep the stalls cleaned and the sheep fed and watered.

And when she crawled into bed with him every night, afraid of the nightmares, afraid to be alone, when she cried on his chest, he simply held her without saying a word. He stroked her hair and pressed chaste kisses to her cheek and wiped away the tears. He let her sleep in the same bed as him and pressed for nothing more.

And she was pretty sure, in those quiet moments in his arms, when she felt safe and secure, that she was falling in love with him.

Maybe she had been all along. Belle wasn’t someone who had ever felt any sort of real attraction to someone she didn’t already feel bonded to. And that had crept up on her the more she got to know Gold. It happened almost naturally, that bond and that attraction. But now? Now it was more. She was sure of it.

And there were times she wanted to tell him, times when it was almost on her lips, when she was looking into his eyes and they were soft that she wanted to whisper the words, tell him she thought she might be falling for him.

But she didn’t. And so things stayed quiet and content and just a tiny bit awkward. With nothing to focus on but themselves and the dogs, they spent quiet evenings sharing meals and reading while tucked up on the same couch. Occasionally they played games and Belle found out exactly how fierce a competitor Gold could be. Not that it should have surprised her, but he was the only person who had managed to best her at Scrabble and she found she respected him even more for that little surprise.

It was late in the evening a few weeks after her father passed away that Gold sprung a bit of a surprise on her. “Bae’s coming to visit next week.”

“Bae…”

“Baedden,” he amended. “My son.”

Belle shook her head, blinked. “Yes, I recall who he is.” She offered up at least a slight smile. “I didn’t realize he would be visiting.”

“Early every summer my ex-wife allows him to come see me.” There was a pain there behind the word. “She tosses him on a bus and sends him out here. She and her new _beau_ can go do whatever it is they like to do. I hear he has some sort of yacht.”

She hated to hear the bitterness there. From what he told her, their divorce happened ages ago. It seemed he still hung onto so much of the anger and bitter feelings. “Yes well, you have better than a yacht.”

“Do I now?” he asked and she was glad to hear a bit of his humor return to his voice.

“Hmmm,” she just said and smirked. It felt good to laugh, to tease. They had been too serious of late. Her father’s death had cast a pall over not only her life, but his as well. “You have me.”

“I see,” he responded with and Belle couldn’t stop herself from leaning over and kissing him. It was soft, gentle, just a slight brushing together of lips, but it felt natural. It felt _right_.

“So tell me about your son?”

“I did promise once, didn’t I?” He pulled away from her slightly, but she could tell he wanted to speak of him. It had probably been years since he had spoken of the boy to anyone.

“You did.”

“Truth be told, I don’t know him very well.” His eyes met hers for a moment and then slipped away.

“Your wife won’t allow much contact.” She didn’t have to phrase it as a question. “I don’t like her much,” Belle muttered.

Gold gave a bark of laughter. There was that much at least. “Not many who know her do.”

"So why did you…"

"Marry her?" He shook his head at that. "I was young and stupid. But it got me Bae, even if I hardly ever get to see him. Just those couple weeks with him…"

He trailed off there and Belle reached out to touch his hand briefly. "We'll get to know him."

"I do believe if anyone can get him to come out of his shell, it would be you."

"I'll take that as a compliment." She smirked as she spoke the words.

"I meant it as one." There was a seriousness to the words that almost took her breath away. Though there was that little niggling thing in that back of her mind that reminded her she had _no_ idea what to do with children of any age. She had been an only child and had moved away from home before any of her few friends had younger siblings. Ones that were young enough to be _considered_ young by Belle at that time at least. She had few friends growing up in the States and certainly no one she was close to who had children.

Frankly, the thought of meeting Gold's ten-year-old son terrified her. But she would have to swallow that bit of terror and not allow him to see that. And so she smiled and took a deep breath and squeezed his hand.

She had to believe it would all go well.

* * *

It didn't, of course. At least not at first. The young man who hopped off the bus when they met him at the station was sullen. He had dark unruly hair, eyes not unlike his father's. He was almost too thin, small arms wrapped tightly around his midsection as his eyes scanned the crowd and fell on his father.

Who, Belle noted, was not smiling. He looked grim, very much not the smiling proud father she had seen him be in the last week or so. He told her stories about his boy when they were still together. But he shut down when she asked about the boy _now_.

"Bae," she heard him say as his son approached.

The boy grimaced. "I hate that name." It took Belle a moment to figure out what the mumbled words were.

"What do you want to be called?" Her voice was soft when she asked the question but the boy's eyes were sharp and his eyebrows drawn low when he turned to meet her eyes.

"Who are you?"

Belle glanced quickly at Gold. They hadn't discussed this. Who was she, exactly? Not quite the help, not quite a girlfriend. She was…something perilously close to both and didn't that just make life a lot more difficult for them?

"I'm…"

"Don't be rude, Bae," Gold cut her off with.

"Neal," he said.

"Pardon?"

"My friends are calling me Neal." He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his father.

"Whatever for?" Belle wanted to hide in that moment, run somewhere else. This was not going well at all.

"Because I want them to," Baedden…Neal…responded with, challenge in his voice.

"But that's not…"

"Then we'll call you that," Belle interrupted with.

"Who _are_ you?" he asked again.

"Don't be…"

"Rude, I know," Baedden said and rolled his eyes.

"My name is Belle," she finally just said. "I help around your father's farm."

"You?"

She tried not to laugh at the incredulous note to his voice. "I know I don't look like much but I'm sure your father would reassure you that I'm stronger than I look."

"And far more dangerous," he muttered. Belle laughed. Baedden narrowed his eyes on them. "Come now, Baedden."

"Neal," he shot back with.

"Let's get home," Gold said and steered him away from the bus station to where they had parked his truck.

This really did not bode well at all.

* * *

The next morning really wasn't much better. Baedden, who insisted they call him _Neal_ , was quiet and moments after eating breakfast, headed into the living room and pulled out a video game from his bag.

"I'm sorry," Gold said to Belle after his son had disappeared.

"Why?"

"I should have warned you." He sounded resigned and she knew he had somehow been hoping that his son would be more open to him, less combative.

She reached out a hand and touched his briefly. "There's nothing to apologize for." He gave her a half smile at the words. "This is your ex-wife's doing, isn't it?"

He was silent for a moment and then his shoulders slumped. "She hated the name. And she hated me. She's made damned sure that Bae won't ever want to come here. And now she’s made it so he doesn’t even like his own _name_. She was granted full custody and that _still_ wasn't enough." His fist slammed onto the table, the noise almost deafening in the quiet room.

“Well,” Belle said and she hated the way her voice sounded just a little too bright, just a little too much edge to the tone. “I have just the remedy.”

Gold raised one eyebrow at her. “Do you now?”

She nodded, bit her lip as she leaned closer to him. “How about we…”

“Miss French, my son is here,” he responded with and she let out a laugh.

“Oh not _that_.” She swatted his arm and was happy to see him smile. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how frustrating and heartbreaking it must be to be so separated from his son. “We haven’t had a lesson in awhile.”

He perked up at that. “No,” he finally said. “I suppose we haven’t.” Everything had been put on hold when her father passed away. Maybe it was time to get back. It would provide them both some much-needed distraction.

“Then?”

“What about Bae?” He glanced toward the living room, where Baedden was still on the couch playing his video game.

“He won’t even notice.” Belle hated to even say that and she hated the way that Gold sighed when she did. But it was the truth. She didn’t know ten-year-old boys _that_ well, really, but she knew they could be tied up in a game for hours and not even be aware of the adults in the household.

“Alright,” he capitulated. “Let’s do this.”

* * *

The lesson had been going amazingly well. Belle had simply _forgotten_ how nice it was to be out on the field, to watch the grace and beauty of her dog as she made her large outrun, as she gathered up the sheep to move them. It was a dance, a beautiful dance, and it still took her breath away.

She was pleased with that. She had been afraid learning the technical aspects of it all would somehow ruin the joy she had first had when watching Gold work with Taz. But it hadn’t. If anything, it had made it even more a joy. She was no longer the wallflower, watching from the outside, she was now a _part_ of the dance, able to lose herself in it as she and her dog worked together to achieve a common goal.

“Catch her,” Gold said. “Watch. She’s about to bolt to the other side and she’ll drive them right past the gates.”

Belle didn’t acknowledge him, just did as he told her. She could see what he meant and that was quite the improvement over where she had been some time ago. Her whistle reigned Bandit’s enthusiasm in, caused her to stop and drop where she was. The sheep slowed. The dog watched. And then Belle released her with a long, slow whistle. _Not too fast, not too slow_.

Bandit moved with a lithe grace, darting around to the other side and forcing the sheep back toward the space between the drive gates.

And then one went through.

And another.

Then a moment to hold her breath, a moment to pause Bandit and hope and pray, and then they all went through.

“Yes!” Belle shouted. She couldn’t even reign in _her_ enthusiasm and leaned over to hug Gold.

He embraced her, but only briefly. “Miss French,” he said, the word almost growled at her.

“Are we back to that then?”

“It seems you’ve forgotten something,” he went on with, not acknowledging her question. She leaned back a little and looked up at him, pleased to see that there was a small smirk on his face, a little glint in his eyes.

“Have I now?” she whispered.

“You have,” he said as he leaned down close to her, lips almost meeting hers.

She closed her eyes, ready, willing.

And was surprised when he suddenly leapt back and pulled her with him. Her eyes flew open as the sheep trotted by, Bandit at their heels.

She groaned.

Gold smirked.

“Bandit, that’ll do,” she called out and the dog immediately ran to her side while the sheep continued on their wayward trek toward the barn.

“Always,” Gold said and there was great amusement in his voice. “ _Always_ , call your dog off at the end.”

Belle let out another groan as Gold stepped away from her.

“What’s going on here?” Baedden was standing behind them and his look, far from being simple childish curiosity, was assessing. She suspected he was as intelligent as his father, that hidden somewhere behind his annoyance and aloofness was a great intellect. And probably a heart as scarred as his father’s.

“He’s teaching me how to herd,” Belle responded with. His father didn’t seem to be able to get the words out.

Baedden’s eyes only flicked to her briefly before settling on his father. “You never taught me to herd.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“You’re only here for two weeks,” Gold pointed out. Reasonable she supposed but the look on Baedden’s face told her it was clearly _not_ the right answer.

“Do you want to learn some herding stuff?” Belle asked.

Baedden looked back and forth between them and she could see the indecision. Say he was interested and he blows his cover of being an aloof pre-teen with a chip on his shoulder. Say he’s not and he’ll never quite come to understand his father and things will stay at the status quo.

Belle stepped forward, leaned closer to him. “It’s fun.”

“Really?” he asked.

“It is. It’s like a real live video game. Only instead of a joystick, you have a whistle. And instead of some pixels on a screen you have a living breathing creature who desperately wants to please you and do the right thing. And _you_ get to decide how the game is played.” She leaned back then and glanced at Gold. He was staring at her, eyes wide, mouth slightly open.

“Yeah,” Baedden finally managed to say. “Sure. We could do that.”

Belle had to bite back laughter. Somehow he managed to make it sound like it was no big deal, even though she could see the interest, that little spark of excitement in his dark eyes.

“Tomorrow then?” Gold finally said and his voice seemed a little strained, his eyes still wide.

“Sure thing,” Baedden said and turned, shuffling back off to the house.

Belle reached over and squeezed Gold’s hand briefly before following. Somehow she had a feeling he might need a little time to himself after that little conversation.

* * *

“How did you do it?”

He didn’t even bother to knock. Maybe he should have, but it was _his_ library after all and while Belle had often taken to spending time there, it was still a room in _his_ house. Even if a little part of him felt guilty for invading her space.

“Do?” she said, glancing up at him from the book she was reading.

“My son.” Somehow she had managed to not only get him interested in herding, but actually get him to spend time with his father. This wasn’t how his visits normally went. The usual pattern was quiet dinners, his son watching a movie or playing videogames, and the rift continuing to grow. They rarely talked on the phone now and every single day, Gold felt the knife twist in deeper. There would come a time that his son would no longer even bother to talk to him. He’d turn eighteen and head out into the world and not give his father another thought.

And it shouldn't be that way, dammit. It shouldn't. Because he loved the boy with everything he was. He was _the_ center of his universe, even if he barely knew him. Even if he was down to the one two-week visit and a couple phone calls a year in which Gold did all the talking and Baedden did nothing more than grunt a few times.

It wasn't fair.

Of course, the one lesson he had taken away from his father was that life _wasn't_ fair. _Well, laddie, things don't always go your way_. And they didn't. With little more than those words to impart, his father had disappeared, never to be seen nor heard from again. He had left in the dead of night, all records of him vanishing into the ether, like he had simply never existed.

Belle was watching him, no doubt watching the emotions play across his face as he struggled to speak to her on this subject.

Finally she answered him and there was a small, almost sad, smile on her face and her eyes looked slightly watery. "He seemed interested." Gold nodded at that. So simple. That was it? He seemed interested and so she invited him along. "He's a good kid, Tavish."

He gave a small bark of laughter, cold, dark. "I wouldn't know."

She shook her head. "He is. I can tell. But there's a…" She paused there, waving one hand in the air. "A vulnerability there? I think that's the word I'm looking for. He loves but doesn't know _how_ to love. I think he wants to know you."

"You think." His voice was dry when he responded, the words flat and empty. Belle had a huge heart, that much he had figured out. A huge heart that wanted to welcome everyone into it, even a cantankerous old git like him. He supposed that meant welcoming his son in as well.

She stood then and put her hand over his. “I do.” She cocked her head to the side and his eyes slid away from hers. “Sincerely. Look how quick he was to jump on learning something from you.”

When he was able to look back to her, he noticed the soft smile, her little nod of encouragement. “You really do think he wants to know me, don’t you?”

Her smile widened just a little bit. “I do. Honestly.”

He leaned down and kissed her, soft and chaste. He didn’t dare do more, wasn’t sure he could handle more at that moment. But that was enough. A connection, solid and real. “Then I guess I have a lesson to plan.”

The last was said with a small grin and Belle squeezed his hands once before releasing him. “I suppose you do.”

He took his leave of her then, his heart a little lighter than when he had walked into the room. His son wanted a chance. Maybe. At least he was giving him _some_ chance to connect with him. He never quite expected it to be sheepdogs, but he supposed that was fitting. His attempts to connect over videogames and sports had fallen flat.

More than flat, really.

His son had looked at him like he had two heads and his ex-wife had called after he returned home to laugh at him. _Laugh_. She never called to check and make sure Baedden was fine while visiting. She never called to find out if there was anything she needed to know had happened. She never even let _Baedden_ call him. But she did enjoy taunting him for his failures, reminding him that he was no real father. The court had ordered these two weeks of visitation and that was the only reason Milah let the boy go.

Not that he ever quite got the sense she cared about the boy. Well, not as deeply as Gold at least. He was a means to an end, a way to make him pay. Her verbal lashings had been all but halted when she had moved across the country, but Baedden was a way to keep Gold under her thumb. Taunts and insults and just a little bit of glee and she could have him fall all over again. Reminders that he was a failure…as a husband, as a lover, as a father. He was often surprised she didn’t take out ads in the paper proclaiming his many failures.

_Your father was right about you. You_ are _worthless…_

He wondered often why she had married him in the first place. Perhaps he was simply someone she could step all over and she enjoyed that power.

He was thankful that she had asked for a divorce. It was perhaps the one bright spot of his life, ending that relationship and getting away from her. She thought she was taking him further down and maybe she had for a time. But looking back, seeing what had become of his life, he was better now than he was then.

Perhaps even better now that he had Belle in his life. He still couldn’t quite fathom what was going on there. Every day he spent with her, he realized he wanted to spend _more_ with her. More days, more time. He drove past the local flower shop and contemplated buying her roses. He fell asleep thinking about her smile and woke from dreams in which he took her in every possible position in every possible place in the house. Some that made him blush mightily and some that made him rush to the bathroom and throw cold water on his face, and more than some that had him taking himself in hand and finishing what his dream self had started.

But every time they took a step forward, his brain put the brakes on, doubts screaming inside his head.

_She’ll leave you, old man. They all do._

_Do you really think such a lovely woman could love_ you _?_

_You’re worthless now…lame, friendless, just a man who would fall to dust if she didn’t prop you up._

Her sunny smiles told him it wasn’t so. But he knew. He knew otherwise. Because how could it end any other way? _Everyone_ left him. His father, his wife, his son. How could he believe Belle would be any different?

But oh, in the meantime, while he had her, he was going to hold to her as tight as he could, try to make things good and stable and wonderful for her until that fateful day.

He fell into bed that night determined to be everything Belle and his son would want, knowing damn well he’d fail in the long run. But at least the effort could be made. At least he could _try_ to be the man they deserved. He might fail, but trying was certainly better than the alternative.

And maybe, when the time came for Belle to leave, she would at least look kindly upon him and their time together.


	24. Chapter 24

The first day Baedden joined them out in the field was perhaps not the _best_ day they had ever had. Belle could see how hard Gold was trying to engage with the boy and sometimes it was just painful to watch. He alternately spoke to him like he was a young adult and a child and Baedden was getting increasingly frustrated.

“I don’t understand _why_ ,” he had said multiple times as Gold tried to explain what they were doing and what was going on with the sheep.

He had been using Belle as an example. Having her demonstrate things, having her try to explain them. He had taught her well and she took great pride in being able to show his son a few of the things she learned.

But there was frustration on both ends and she worried about them, worried it wouldn’t end well. Baedden’s face was flushed. Gold had a furrow between his brow that seemed to increase the more time went on.

“No! Not like that.” He stepped in between his son and the dog and grabbed the stick the boy was using as a crook from him. “Never like that.” Baedden had wielded it just a little too much like a weapon, driving the dog back and coming close to hitting him. They were using a young dog, untrained, and just a little bit unrestrained and when the dog rushed the sheep, Baedden had tried to stop him, nearly hitting the small dog on the nose.

“I don’t know what I’m doing!” Baedden shouted back.

“I’m trying to _show_ you what to do, dammit!” Gold’s voice was equally loud and Belle watched as the dog cringed back. Border Collies tended to be sensitive dogs to start with, but a raised voice was one of the banes of their existence. She had learned that the hard way when she had shouted in anger once around Bandit.

“Stop!” she shouted and walked in between Gold and his son. She turned briefly to Baedden and gave him a small grin before turning most of her ire on Gold.

“He’s just a boy.”

“He’s…”

“He’s _trying_ ,” she pointed out.

Gold took a deep breath and she could see the way it physically calmed him. “I know.”

“Then go easy on him, Tavish,” she said quietly. “He’s trying.”

When she turned to look back at his son, the boy was watching her with eyes that were just a little too much like his father’s, just a little too assessing. She tried not to smile. He may not spend much time with Gold, but he was certainly his boy through and through, from the unruly hair that was just a tad bit longer than normal to the quick temper to the keen intelligence. She had no idea what traits the boy picked up from his mother’s side, but there were certainly many she could see just beneath the surface that were _all_ Gold.

“Alright,” Gold finally said. “I’m sorry, Bae.”

The boy nodded and she noticed that he didn’t correct his father on his name. A small victory at least.

And then her stomach growled and she found both man and boy watching her with wide eyes and an amused grin. “Maybe we should break for lunch?”

“Women,” Gold said as he stepped closer to his son. “It’s always about food with them.”

“And shoes,” Belle pointed out.

“Yes of course. Food and shoes and handbags galore.” Gold made a small gesture with his hand and she was pleased to see Baedden actually crack a grin at that.

“Mom has about fifty, I think,” he said. Some of the first words that he had spoken on his own that hadn’t been about the sheep or the dogs, a small hint at his life. A conversation.

“I only have _one_ ,” Belle said with a slight sniff. “I don’t need that many handbags.”

“That’s because yours can fit everything _and_ the kitchen sink in it.” Gold’s voice had turned light and she was glad to see that furrow between his brows had disappeared.

Baedden snickered.

Belle turned to him. “You think this is funny young man?” She drew herself up to her full height but knew that was probably ridiculous. Baedden was really not that much shorter than her.

“I…” he started to say and Belle reached out and ruffled his hair.

“I’m only joking.”

The boy visibly relaxed at that. “Good.” She was surprised to see him glance at his father and saw Gold nod once.

“Now there’s a reason for my large handbag,” Belle pointed out. “A girl has to be prepared.”

“For the apocalypse,” Gold cut in with and Baedden snickered again.

“Oh I give up!” Belle said and threw her hands in the air. They had gotten about halfway back to the house at that point and so she leaned down close to Baedden. “I’ll race you back to the house?”

His eyes lit up at that. She didn’t know children, not that well at least. She had never had her own and had been an only child. But she had been involved in many races back to houses in her day and always remembered how free it made her feel. It seemed it was no different now.

“We shouldn’t,” Baedden finally said. “Papa can’t race.”

Belle felt her eyebrows draw up and she turned to look at Gold quickly. It was true. He couldn’t run. He might be not leaning as heavily on the cane anymore, but he still needed it to walk, still needed to use it for balance.

“No he can’t,” Belle said and there was a bit of sadness to her voice.

“Go ahead,” Gold said suddenly and she was surprised at the tightness to his voice. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t sadness. But she could see _something_ behind his eyes and hear _something_ in his voice.

She leaned closer to him. “Are you sure?”

He nodded and reached up to tuck an errant hair behind her ear. “Yes. Go run with him. He’ll enjoy it.”

Belle cocked her head to the side for a moment, studying him, and then finally turned back to Baedden. “Come on!”

And then she was off, the boy following behind her with a whoop of joy.

* * *

His son had beaten her back to the house and he wasn't quite sure if Belle had orchestrated that or if his son really was that quick. He remembered, somewhere during one of those short conversations he had with his ex-wife, that Baedden was into sports. Soccer, she had said, and there had been some sort of exasperation behind the words. As if soccer, a sport that somehow connected Baedden with his Scottish roots more than she would have liked, was beneath him.

But the boy was small, wiry. American football would never suit. Soccer, now that suited him and he apparently loved it. Watching him run, he could well imagine that he was fast, scrappy, not afraid to get hurt.

Nothing like his old man.

Nothing at all.

Gold was always afraid of getting hurt. Not physically, but the scars he wore went deep. Far deeper than he’d like to admit, even to himself. Watching his boy with Belle was like having a knife driven deep into his gut. This was how it should have been. The happy family. Wife who loved him, son who loved him, a family he cared about and cherished. Maybe even loved.

That thought made him hesitate for a moment, taking just a second too long to open the door and step through.

“Are you ok?” Belle asked him. She _would_ be there, of course, seeing that moment of weakness. She always seemed to recognize when something wasn’t quite right.

He just stopped and watched her for a moment. “How _do_ you do that?”

“Do what?”

And he was sure she was honestly confused, honestly had no idea how she seemed to read him like one of the many books she had read over the months of her time there with him.

“Nevermind.” He waved her on ahead.

“Don’t do that,” she shot back with.

“Do…”

“That. Shutting me out.” She planted her hands on her hips, but he was saved by the reappearance of his son.

“Come Belle, you promised lunch.”

“Miss French,” Gold said after a moment. Probably too late. “You’re to call her Miss French,” he shouted after his son. Baedden just turned back to him and gave him one arched eyebrow. A look he was all too familiar with. He’d spent ages perfecting that sardonic eyebrow tilt when he was young. It seemed it came all too naturally to his boy.

“She told me to call her Belle.” And then he turned and raced off, presumably to the kitchen. Young boys had big stomachs. He remembered that much at least..

“Did she now?” he murmured and glanced at Belle.

She gave him a sheepish look. “I didn’t think it would hurt any…”

“He needs to learn some manners,” Gold grumbled.

Belle just smiled at him and put one hand on his arm. "Well, if it's any consolation. I think his manners are just fine." She leaned in closer. "And I _did_ tell him to call me Belle. 'Miss French' always makes me feel old."

He didn't know that. He could have guessed if he had ever taken the time. But he hadn't. Why bother, anyway? She would never show interest in the likes of him and so why would such a thing matter? Except it did, he realized. Sometime it had _begun_ to matter.

He wasn't even sure when that was, really. Maybe when he held her after father's funeral. Or perhaps it was when she first got it, that _moment_ when things clicked when working with a dog. Or it might have been when she fell from the ladder or quite possibly when she refused to back down and chipped his damned cup.

Probably the damned cup…

"Are you coming?"

He blinked once. And then again and finally managed to focus on Belle. She had moved off a bit and left him standing near the door, gripping his cane with one hand and looking inward. "Yes, of course."

Lunch first.

There would be time for soul searching, or whatever it was that he was doing, sometime later.

* * *

Gold had been acting odd, Belle realized as they headed out to the sheep. His son had been there for a grand total of seven days. One week in which Gold had alternated between being open and honest and trying so very hard with his son and closing himself off completely. The walls sometimes flew up so quickly she was almost certain she could _see_ them.

But progress was being made. She could feel it. Gold looked more relaxed, lines not quite as tight around his mouth, a little less afraid of saying the wrong thing to his son.

And Baedden had relaxed around his father as well, letting him into his life. He didn't say much. He was a quiet boy, really, and in moments after he went to sleep Gold told her he remembered him as always being quiet, a little shy, smaller than the rest of his class. The latter she could well imagine as true, but the boy was certainly not shy and he had no trouble in speaking his mind.

Especially now that his father had relaxed a little. Not a lot, mind. But he had let down his guard a little bit, let the boy in a little bit more. And it was showing in the way Baedden was willing to say things, to challenge things.

He had continued the sheep herding lessons. She was surprised at that. Not that she really understood children, at all really, but she pretty much saw them as little people addicted to their games and occasionally to making trouble. She expected his son to be much the same. And he had, until he had latched onto this idea of learning herding.

The games had been put aside.

And Baedden was pulling long hours out in the field with them. He stuck close by them, watched them with eyes that were sometimes just a little too old for his age. She suspected he had been through as much as his father had been.

It was late one night when Belle went down to the kitchen for a glass of water that she ran into Baedden. He startled when she walked in, bleary-eyed, in her pajamas. "Belle…" He stammered like his father when nervous, she realized.

She watched him for a moment. "Are you ok?"

His eyes slid away from hers and he turned back to the counter. "I'm fine."

"But…"

She watched as he took a deep breath and turned back to her. "Are you and my Dad…" He let the words trail off, but she knew what he meant. She was honestly surprised it took a week for him question their relationship.

"I don't know, Bae," she answered. Honest. She had nothing to hide, but also really nothing to tell. She knew what he was asking and she wasn’t quite sure where the young boy stood on such things.

“He’s never had someone here before.” The words were quiet, serious.

She knew that. She’d always known that. Gold had told her that he hadn’t dated since his divorce many years ago and she well imagined that the previous times his son came to visit, they basically interacted like strangers. But still, she had no explanation for what she _was_ to Gold. She wasn’t just his employee anymore, but she also wasn’t exactly his lover. There was _something_ there between them and she wasn’t quite sure where it was going, what it would turn into.

She only knew that every time she saw him, her heart did a little flip. And when he was in one of his moods, she felt it. Stronger than before. Stronger than anything else she had before. Almost as if they were connected on a level that she never could have anticipated.

And she still didn’t know where she stood with him.

“I know,” Belle said in response and for a moment both were silent.

“Well if you wanted to…” His words trailed off and Belle found herself smiling for a moment before she realized he was dead serious.

"If I wanted to…"

"You know," Baedden said and waved a hand in the air, a gesture so reminiscent of his father that it made her heart warm a little bit. "My dad…he seems so lonely."

"I know." She fell into silence then. She knew. All too well. She had seen the set to his shoulders, the way he pushed people away and yet drew them in at the same time. She'd seen the way he tried so hard with his boy and wanted to give up to keep his heart intact. She had seen beyond the hard exterior to what lay beneath, the side of himself he showed to no one.

"Well…"

"Yes…I know. If I wanted to…"

"Yeah."

Belle reached out a hand and briefly touched the boy's arm. "I'll take care of him."

"I think he needs that." And then the boy was gone, leaving her alone with her thoughts and worries.

* * *

"You did it!" Baedden shouted. Gold turned to look at his son. He'd been here for almost two weeks and he'd seen such changes in the boy since he arrived. He'd gone from sullen to excited, even happy over being out working with the sheep.

He had never seen such a thing before out of his son.

And he knew he had Belle to thank.

Belle, who even now was watching Bandit herd five sheep through a pair of drive gates, her eyes bright, her hand over her mouth as she watched it all _work_.

"I did it!" she shouted and turned to hug Gold, as if it were natural to reach out and touch him, as if he were _used_ to being touched. And he was, he supposed. At least by Belle. She was the kind of person that touched without thinking, a hand on the arm, a brief touch on the shoulder. He had probably had her in his arms more than he had had his ex-wife through their entire marriage.

He wasn't quite sure that was a bad thing.

In fact, he was more and more _sure_ that wasn't a bad thing.

"Yes!" he heard his son shout and let go of Belle to hold out his arm toward the boy. There was a hesitation there, noticeable, but _small_ , before the boy rushed to them and briefly hugged them.

He couldn't even fathom what was happening here. Against almost insurmountable odds, his son had been talking to him, had been spending time with him. The night before the three of them had gone out for pizza. _Pizza_. Like they were a normal family. Father, mother, and son.

And it felt so damned right he wasn't even sure what to do about it all.

"She's looking good, Gold."

Nolan. _Oh bloody hell_. Caught in a moment of weakness by David Nolan of all people. And of course, he was grinning. He was more and more these days when he came to him. As if he _knew_.

Which he supposed he did. He hadn't quite forgotten his moment of drunken shouting at Nolan the day he asked Belle out. And he hadn't quite forgotten the man showing up the day after the date, smirk in place, wanting to know how it went.

He had thrown him out on his ear.

But not before telling him everything went just fine thank you very much and will you stay out of my business already.

He’d rot in hell before he admitted that he had ultimately invited the man into his business in the first place.

Gripping his cane in one hand he turned, the move less suave than he hoped. As he pivoted, his bad foot got caught on a clump of grass that had no doubt been kicked up by some errant sheep and he stumbled. Just slightly. Enough to make his son laugh. He shot the boy a dark look before turning back to Nolan, grin in place. “Well, I did train her after all.”

David just smiled at him. “Of course.”

One of Gold’s eyebrows rose. “Are you saying that my training has nothing to do with her success?” The notion was ridiculous at best.

“Of course not.” Nolan still wore the same congenial grin, arms crossed over his chest. “Are you thinking about trials?”

Gold had no chance to respond before Belle stepped closer. “A trial?”

“No,” Gold quickly answered but the look Belle shot him made him refrain from saying anymore.

“Do you think I’m good enough for that?” He watched as she glanced back at the sheep. They were grazing somewhere up the hill, Bandit having been released from her duty and currently upside down with Baedden stroking her belly. No one could argue that despite all their intensity and focus, Border Collies were still just dogs at heart.

Gold took a deep breath. “For a novice trial? Perhaps.” There was one thing he had learned the hard way and that was that having _hope_ was often a mistake. The last thing he needed was David Nolan strolling up to his farm and putting those sorts of thoughts in her head.

Belle let out a squeal and reached out to hug him. And he _let_ her. And David Nolan just kept smirking.

"Don't get any ideas, Mr. Nolan," Gold muttered under his breath.

"Of course not," Nolan responded with. "I'm just saying that she's almost ready."

Belle backed away from Gold and he could see her waiting, wondering, _hoping_. _Damn that Nolan_. "I will consider it," he said finally. And then turned to Belle. "I _will_ ," he said to her. She nodded at the words. "But there's still a lot that needs to be done."

She took a deep breath. "I'm prepared to do it."

"Well, then, I suppose we need to get started." He gave a pointed look to Nolan even while his son let out a shout of excitement that he only expected out of him when he scored some point or defeated some villain or whatever on one of his bloody games.

“I’ll look forward to seeing you at the trial,” Nolan said as her turned to leave.

“You’re going?” Gold felt his eyebrows shoot up. Nolan wasn’t any good with herding dogs. He had them, but he certainly wasn’t any sort of expert, mostly letting the dogs just push them to where he needed them and doing the legwork to separate them himself when needed.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” And he walked off whistling.

“Well, at least she’ll beat _someone_ ,” he muttered.

“I heard that,” Belle shot back with.

“I’m not competing,” Nolan called over his shoulder.

Gold was left standing there with Belle laughing, his son laughing, even _David Nolan_ laughing. And wasn’t it just ridiculous that _he_ actually felt like joining in?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this has taken so long. I hope to speed up but no guarantees. I'm tired a lot and struggling to get the inspiration to write. I really only have a handful of chapters left to write (it looks like chapter 29 or 30 will wrap this story up) so I'm hoping to get on it and get it done for you guys! Thanks to anyone who has stuck by me through this.


	25. Chapter 25

“Dad’s different.”

Belle turned suddenly, almost lost her balance, and gripped the counter she was standing in front of. “Are you always up at this hour?” She turned to face Baedden, who had somehow managed to creep up behind her. It was nothing out of the ordinary for her to be up this late at night, sneaking down for a midnight snack or a glass of water.

The boy shrugged, but said nothing else.

Belle turned back to the mug of hot cocoa that she had been making. “So are we always going to meet like this?” She said the words with a small grin. She didn’t know what else to do really. Children were not her forte, never having had any herself. And she was still awkward, especially around this almost-teenager who barely seemed to relate to his own father, much less her.

“Maybe,” Baedden said and she was pleased to see he was grinning as well.

“Do you want some?”

He nodded once and she found herself charmed by his somewhat bleary-eyed excitement at the thought of sneaking such a treat in the middle of the night.

“Your mom doesn’t allow you such things, does she?”

“Nope.” He leaned forward then. “I don’t think my dad would either.” The last was said in a conspiratorial whisper that made her laugh.

"Well then," Belle said and leaned in toward him. "It's a good thing I'm not your father then." She winked at him and pulled out the can of whipped cream from where she'd hidden it in the back of the refrigerator. His eyes opened even wider at that. "I guess that means you want some," she said with a bit of a laugh.

He nodded and held out his cup. She sprayed in a dollop and, at his tiny little nod, sprayed a huge mound on top of it.

"Don't tell your dad."

"Never," he whispered and settled down at the table with his prize.

Belle joined him a moment later, her hot cocoa topped with nearly the same amount of whipped cream as the boy's. She _loved_ whipped cream. Perhaps a little too much. Pie, hot cocoa, strawberry shortcake…they were all just delivery systems for whipped cream. It seemed Baedden shared her opinion of the stuff as he tucked into it with relish.

"So your Dad?" she finally ventured. Gold _had_ changed. She was sure of it. The Gold she had met at her interview all those months ago was quiet, cold. There had been an anger lurking behind every move, all biting sarcasm and lashing out without the least bit of provocation. But that wasn't him anymore. Not really at least. She still hadn't quite gotten him to open up. But she was close. So close.

"He's usually mad at me." The words were spoken with what she could only describe as typical child grumpiness.

"I can believe that."

"Really?" The way he cocked his head slightly to the side and raised one eyebrow was so much his father it made her smile.

“Do you want to know how I met your father?” She had to laugh at the way he moved back and looked rather hesitant to hear her go on.

“I don’t know…”

“Oh trust me. You want to hear this. I came here for a job mucking out the barn and doing general farm work and he threw me out on my ear.”

“He didn’t!” She had to smile at the gasp that accompanied the words.

She leaned a little further forward. “Shhh…”

“Library voice, right.” He spoke the words like they’d been spoken to him a hundred times before, as if he had always been shushed in exactly that way.

“Your mother?”

It took him a moment to respond. “No. Mom…she doesn’t care about such things. She’s not really there much.”

There was a sadness to the words, an ache, a loneliness. She knew that Gold had tried to gain custody. She knew that he had lost and that his ex-wife had left with the boy, traveling hundreds of miles away from Gold’s little town. Likely, she knew, to keep father and son well and truly separated. Two weeks in the summer was hardly enough time to settle in and get to know each other.

“I’m…”

Baedden shook his head. “Don’t…”

“Right.” She bit her lower lip.

“You came back,” Baedden said after a moment and Belle took a deep breath.

“I did. Stormed right back in and told him he needed me.” It seemed ages ago now, a different world, different people. She had been so bold, so brash. She had been so very desperate that she walked right into the lair of the dragon and demanded the job.

“And he did,” Baedden said. No question there. He knew. He could see it. The boy was far too wise for his mere ten years. Smart and focused with his father’s ability to see past your words and into the heart of it all.

“He did,” she confirmed. “He could barely walk at the time.” And oh, he had been angry about that. Angry and mortified and grouchy with it. “So you see, I can well imagine that your father is not the easiest man to get along with.”

“He’s the worst,” Baedden started to say.

“Is he?”

And then the boy shook his head. “No,” he finally admitted. He fell quiet then and Belle wasn’t sure how much more she should press. She suspected his mother, if everything she understood about her were true, was more difficult. Likely angrier. There were hints of neglect about him, hints that perhaps he didn’t feel loved. She wondered more and more if Baedden had his choice, where he would live.

There was a love there between him and his father. Muted and distant, but there. As if both were simply afraid to open up to the other, afraid that if they did, it would come with a world of hurt and pain and betrayal.

“Well, kid,” Belle managed to get out into the silence. “Maybe it’s time for bed?”

He nodded and carefully placed his used mug in the dishwasher before turning back to her. Just briefly, his eyes not quite meeting hers. “My mother’s worse.” And then he was gone. Before Belle could say another word. He just melted into the shadows the same way his father sometimes managed to. There one moment, gone the next.

She wasn’t sure she would have been able to say anything in response anyway.

* * *

“You have to fight for him.”

Gold was seated at his spinning wheel, as he often was in the evening. In the past few weeks he had somehow managed to move one of the smaller wheels to the library, setting it up near the fireplace. A warm little cozy area that allowed him to spin while Belle read. It was peaceful, calm, exactly as he liked his evenings to be.

But tonight that peace was shattered by Belle’s words.

“Fight for _who_?” The words were chosen carefully and really, he almost just gave her a look and ignored her. He knew. He knew damned well what she was on about. But he wasn’t ready to face that.

“Your son?” She sounded almost irate and he wanted to stand up, to shout. _You don’t have a right to be irate_. “Look, I’ve been doing a bit of research…”

“Always a dangerous thing.” The words come out perhaps a bit darker than he intended. He wanted them to be a little flirtatious, a little light, something to deflect emotions. The conversation was headed into dangerous territory and Belle had barely even walked into the room.

“ _Tavish_ , I’m serious.” She kneeled at his side and put one hand on his leg. He wanted to flinch away. It was his first reaction to most things. But there was such an honesty, such a quiet earnestness in her eyes that he couldn’t bring himself to. “I think Baedden is old enough to talk to the courts…”

“They won’t take his testimony into account…”

“He’s…”

“He’s _ten_ ,” he cut her off with. “ _Ten_ , Miss French.”

“Belle…”

He swiped a hand through the hair. “He is _ten_. The court will take one look at him and ignore anything he might want. And do you know what happens then? My boy is disappointed. _Again_.”

“Tavish…”

He could feel the tears pricking at his eyelids, could feel the old emotions overwhelming him. Hate. Anger. The cold sweat of desperation creeping over him. He had _been there_. So many times. Lawyer after lawyer, court battle after court battle. He had been dragged through the mud, had dragged Milah through it with him. And through it all there had been Baedden, increasingly anxious, increasingly sad. Until he had finally given in and allowed the boy to be taken off to Ohio with his mother. It was better than his being forced into the limbo he had been living in for so very long.

"I gave up," he finally said. When she started to speak he held up a hand. "Months, almost a year of court dates and postponements and constant arguments and I threw in the towel. It was the only fair thing for Bae." He looked up then and saw the soft smile on his face. "It wouldn't be fair now."

"What if he wants to?" Her voice was quiet, almost too quiet.

He wanted to be angry. He wanted to shout something at her, but he felt it drain out at her inherent gentleness. Shaking his head, he spoke almost as quietly as she did, trying to keep his voice steady. "The court has decided. I know." He raised a hand with the words. "They can change their minds. But is it worth it?"

"I think it might be."

He cocked his head slightly to the side. There was something there, something he was missing. She _knew_ something and wasn't quite telling it. "Belle…" Her name came out with just a bit more growl than intended.

"I don't think his mother treats him well," she said in answer.

"Tell me something I _don't_ know." Milah was never the warmest of human beings, not even in the early days of their marriage. But after she decided she was done with him, done with it all, she had gone from just a little chilly to cold. She treated him with disdain, picked fights that gave her an excuse to insult him. And when Baedden wasn't around, when he wasn't looking, she brought her hand hard to his face. A sort of penance, she seemed to think, for not being the man she had hoped he would be.

She had married the gentle spinner, the shepherd. She had wanted…something else. A corporate lawyer perhaps. Or a sailor. Baedden had more than once described Milah's newest paramour as some lay about who treated him poorly.

"You…"

"Know? Of course I do. Milah is an abysmal mother."

"Then why…"

"Why is he with her? That much should be obvious." He gave a self-deprecating grin. He was a bachelor, a loner, the hermit on the hill. "I'm hardly good father material."

She leaned a little closer to him, her hand riding up just a little further, moving from knee to thigh. He tried not to think about _that_ in the midst of the conversation they were having, but he couldn't stop it, couldn't stop the bit of lust racing through his system and addling his brain. "I think you'd be an amazing father."

He reached out then, touched her hand, carefully moved it down and away from his thigh. "I appreciate your vote of confidence."

"You're not going to fight." The words were flat and he could see the way her mouth turned down, the furrow between her brows.

"No," he answered, honest to a fault.

She stood then and reached out to squeeze his hand. "I think you should talk to Baedden before he leaves."

He glanced down at their hands and watched as hers left his. She was gone a moment later, the door shutting softly behind her. She was right, he knew. Damn her, but she was _always_ right. Belle French had a rather inconvenient way of seeing right through to the heart of the problem.

He needed to talk to Baedden. And he needed to do it soon. If he wanted to live there, if Milah was turning her abuse onto their son, he _would_ fight. But nothing could happen without Baedden's explicit consent.

He would never put him through that horror again, never again make him stand up in a court of law and talk about his home life. Unless he wanted to. Unless _he_ made that choice

Even Belle couldn’t make him face those demons again, try though she might. And he couldn’t blame her. He had a sense that she _knew_ something and he wasn’t all that surprised. His son had been getting close to her, sometimes he thought a bit too close as he worried that she’d leave and Bae would lose yet another mother figure in his life. And with that closeness came some sort of knowledge about his son.

Yes, he needed to talk to him and soon. He wouldn’t face the demons of the court again unless his son gave him permission. And if he did, he’d fight tooth and nail for him.

* * *

Baedden’s last night came about quicker than any of them could have even anticipated. One moment they were out on the field, Bae working the sheep as best he could, Gold shouting instructions and Belle cheering, and the next they were having a quiet and somewhat sullen dinner.

No one wanted to bring up what the next day brought.

Driving away, putting Baedden all alone on a bus. She knew that Gold hated that, could see the way his shoulders tensed as he watched his son pack up his bags. Milah would never accompany him. She simply didn’t care enough. Gold told her late one night after Baedden was asleep that he had once gotten a ticket to accompany him _back_ and what he met at the end, his ex’s anger, had kept him from doing it again. Even his own son thought it easier to transition back to his home without his father at his side.

And so now they were there again. Two weeks down, one measly dinner and a night of rest to go. She could see the lines deep around Gold’s mouth as their quiet meal stretched on and when Baedden went to bed, there was… _something_ …there in his eyes. A darkness, something haunted.

“I hate letting him go,” he said as they retreated to the living room, glasses of wine in hand.

She didn’t speak for a moment, finally took a deep breath. “I know.”

“It’s the same damned story every year. He goes home and he forgets. She won’t let him call. And he forgets. And then he comes back next year and he’s angry and resentful and feeling like his whole life is disrupted.”

They were the most words he’d said in a long time, she realized. He had been quiet the last few days, speaking mostly when giving instructions and otherwise allowing Baedden to carry the conversations.

“But this year…” she started to say and he cut her off with a small swipe of his hand.

“He’s different.” The words were quiet, but there was a gentleness there, perhaps a bit of awe. He met her eyes then. “It’s because of you, you know.”

“I don’t…”

“It _is_ ,” he insisted and she was surprised when he reached out and briefly touched her hand. Gold wasn’t demonstrative. He never had been. Belle was the one who initiated the touches, the hugs, even the kisses most of the time. She was the one who had invaded his space and he was the one who allowed her in. It’s the way it had been since the very first moment they met.

She nodded. “He’s a good kid.”

Gold remained quiet for a moment, but then finally nodded. “He is.”

“Have you given any more thought to…”

“Yes.” She watched as he took a deep breath. “I’m going to talk to him before we leave tomorrow. He needs to know that I’ll fight for him if he wants me to. But I’m not putting him in the middle of a war between his mother and me again.” He clenched a fist around the cane he still held onto. “ _Ever_.”

“I think you’ll be surprised.” She had seen the way Baedden, well, not how he talked about his mother. But rather how he _didn’t_ talk about his mother. There were words between those he spoke, silences that indicated things were not all that happy back at his home. She had seen him shutting down over the course of the day, preparing for what she was sure was the _worst_ for a ten-year-old child.

She knew.

And he didn't have to say a thing.

She just knew.

"I hope so," Gold finally admitted.

"You're going to have a long battle ahead of you." There was conviction behind the words.

He sighed. "She won't give up without a fight."

Belle stood then and squeezed in on the couch next to him. One of his arms wrapped around her and she realized she felt _safe_ there. Things were not perfect between them. So much was left to be said, so much still to discuss. She was still shattered, still trying to pick up the pieces after her father had passed on. But there was a support there that she never quite expected to find.

"Are you willing to face that?" The words were quiet, earnest.

He stayed silent for a moment. "For Bae? Yes." There was a conviction there, a certain steel behind the words.

"Then we'll face that road when we have to." She was equally firm in her resolve.

"We?"

"Did you think I would abandon you?" She leaned over and kissed his cheek, felt his arm hold her just a little tighter to him. "Nevermind. I know the answer to that one."

"I'm that predictable, am I?" The teasing note to his voice warmed her right to her toes.

“Well, not _that_ predictable.” She was thankful to see him smile. She wasn’t sure she had seen that smile all day as the thought of losing his son _again_ was clearly weighing on him. He did his best to hide it, talking quietly, laughing at the things she said. But it was there in every small glance he sent his son’s way when the boy wasn’t looking.

“I think I should head to bed,” she said at length, disentangling herself from him and standing.

“Bed, yes.” He didn’t meet her eyes and he made no move to leave his seat, instead glancing at the empty wine glass as he turned it slowly in one hand.

“Are you going to be alright?” She’d stay if he asked. She’d stay if he needed her, if he just said the word.

After a time he nodded. “I always am.”

It was a dismissal of sorts and she knew that. “If you need anything,” she said as she paused at the stairs, letting the words hang.

“Of course,” he replied with.

She left him then. She wasn’t sure what else to say, really. But more than that, she got the sense that for that moment at least, he needed to be alone. She understood that. She truly did. There were times when she just needed to be alone with her thoughts and her memories.

With a sigh, she turned to getting prepared for bed. The next day was going to be a long one.


	26. Chapter 26

He had to go it alone. That was what he had told her at least. Belle had accompanied him and Baedden to the bus station but once there, he had insisted on doing the final part of the duty alone. She remained behind, outside the station, sitting on a bench with the book she had tucked into her purse before they'd left.

She'd known. Of course she had. Belle, he was finding out, had a sort of sixth sense about her. She just simply _knew_. There had been no offense taken, just a squeeze of the hand and a _I'll be right out here waiting for you_ and a small, sad smile.

So he had gone in alone, one hand guiding his son by the shoulder. It was strange returning there. It had only been two weeks since Baedden had arrived. Two weeks, as always. But something had changed this time. _Belle_ , his mind told him. _Belle_ was what had changed this time. He had expected his son to resent her, to ignore her. Instead she had drawn the boy out. He had barely played his video games in the remainder of their time together. Oh sure, he had played them some. But not like he did the previous years. He set them aside, he came out to watch the dogs and the sheep, and mostly he _interacted_.

It was a dream come true.

He'd have to find some way to thank Belle.

Gold had been heading back from the ticket booth to get his son's ticket and sign the waiver that allowed him to travel unaccompanied, when he felt a tug at his sleeve. Stopping, he turned to look at Baedden who had somehow managed to shuffle to a stop without his quite noticing.

"What is it, Bae?" He cringed at the name, waiting for the correction. He had been careful to not call him by name in his time visiting, though he noticed that Belle's occasional use of his given name didn't quite seem to faze him the way he expected it to.

"I don't want to go back."

The words caused his heart to drop into his stomach even at the same time he felt that if he just leapt, he'd be able to fly. "What…" he started to say, ran one hand through his hair. "What are you saying?"

"I want to live here." The words were resolute.

"With me?"

The boy nodded. "And Belle," he added, almost shyly.

_Belle_ …she was the catalyst for all this, certainly. His son had never opened up to him, never expressed anything but a sort of quiet disdain and irritation. True, he'd never seemed to feel anything but that for his mother as well. But he had always hoped that he would want to stay with him.

And now he was asking for it.

_His son_ was asking to come back to him, to come _home_.

"Well, Belle's…" He ran a finger through his hair. Belle was… _something_ …to him. Even he couldn't deny it. Feelings crept up at the oddest time, that strange swelling his heart, a sort of emotional fullness that he couldn't remember _ever_ experiencing. And now…more…more _something_.

And more dread.

Because if Belle left him.

And he couldn't win custody of Baedden, then what was left to him? Dust and ashes of a life that was _almost_ perfect.

"You love her, don't you Dad?" There was no ulterior motive to the word, all guile and the innocence of youth.

"Well…" he started to say.

"You do, Dad. I know it." His son was adamant. And he couldn't really deny it, could he? That _was_ what he was feeling, mixed up somewhere with pain and hurt and abject terror. If he could admit it to himself. Which he couldn’t. Not really. There were things he wasn’t ready for, like feeling his heart pierced clean through.

And this time it would hurt more.

He wasn’t sure he _ever_ loved Milah, not really at least. She was a hard woman to love, all sharp edges and just a little bit too much anger. His younger self had understood the anger, the lashing out at the world, and had connected to it. But love? He’s not really sure anyone could love Milah. Not wholly and completely.

But Belle deserved at least that much. And more. She deserved someone whole, someone happy, someone who could give her everything she needed and not just years of strife.

“Dad?”

Gold blinked. “Sorry son.”

Baedden just shook his head. “I have to get on now.”

It took him a moment to figure out what he meant, but then he heard the announcement. Final boarding. His son was being taken back to his mother, back to that home where he knew he wasn’t as loved as he could be, _away from him_. Again.

“Right.” He didn’t move. He couldn’t.

“Dad,” his son said and pushed away from him just slightly.

“Yes, of course.” He reached down and hugged him. Letting him go, seeing him turn away from him again was maybe the hardest thing he’d ever done in his entire life. More difficult than the past times. There was a tear in his heart and when his son stepped from his embrace and moved a foot or two away, turned toward the bus, it was like he had gripped it with both hands and tugged. The tear became a hole and he felt it would swallow him up entirely.

But then Baedden turned back to him. And he smiled. “I’m going to miss you, Papa.”

The words lanced through him, hard. He almost gasped before getting ahold of himself. “You’ll call?”

“Of course.” His son hesitated for a moment. “And…”

Gold bent down slightly, looked his son in his eyes. “I’ll fight for you.” The words were all that was needed. With a nod, Baedden turned and walked away. He didn’t look back as he boarded the bus and Gold watched as he shook the driver’s hand and took his place right behind him. Where it was safest. Where the driver could hear him if he needed him to.

Gold took a deep breath and was surprised to feel a small hand come to rest in his. His eyes didn’t leave the bus as the door closed and it beeped its horn a few times to indicate it was leaving.

“He’ll be back.” Belle’s voice was quiet, resolute. “Before you know it. And then you’ll wonder why you ever wanted a noisy messy kid living in your home.”

He could hear the smile in her voice. “I’ll never wonder that.” The words were sharp, a little harder than he intended.

She squeezed his hand in response, but remained quiet. Normally he would stand in the bus station for a long while, sometimes an hour or more, as if staying there would lead his son back to him in that short time. And then he’d turn, drag himself out, a dead man walking.

It would take him weeks to recover.

“Are you ready?” Belle finally asked.

He didn’t speak for a moment, but then took a deep breath. “Yes. Yes I think I am.”

There was a lot of work to do if he was going to make this work. But now that he knew his son wanted it, now that he had Belle, somehow he felt up for the work. Life was changing around him. He supposed it was time for him to start changing with it.

* * *

Three days. She barely saw him for three entire days. He holed himself up in his study and she could hear him on the phone cursing up a blue streak and shouting demands at someone occasionally. She wasn’t sure if he was shouting at his ex-wife or a lawyer or someone else. She heard Baedden’s name once or twice.

But mostly there was silence.

She went out and took care of the sheep. She was getting better with Bandit, getting better at moving the sheep around, through the fences, around the field. Bandit was getting more sure with her outruns, more sure of the commands. They were becoming a true team. And so moving the sheep out to the pasture and back happened easier all the time.

For three days she ate alone. Gold would occasionally sneak out and find _something_ to eat. She’d find the cereal open and half gone, find the occasional plate left in the sink. But it was like living with a ghost for those days.

And then on the fourth day he left mid-morning. And when he came back, he walked in with a large hulk of a man. _Dove_ , he introduced him as. He was a local guy, needed a job. And he was her replacement.

Well, not her _replacement_ exactly. He pointed out that if they were going to get serious about her herding abilities and going to a trial, then she needed to focus on that and not mucking out the barn. And just like that she was out of a job. Just like that she had gone from employee to…something else. She wasn’t surprised, really. She knew that he was gearing up toward this, that he wanted to push her to learn more, try more, to get to a trial sometime and really stretch her wings.

And there was that whole employer/employee thing hanging just slightly over their heads. Not that it had really stopped them from doing much or anything, but it was still there, somewhere, in the back of her mind. He still _paid_ her. When she questioned him about finances, now that she was no longer employed by him he had simply stared at her, blinked once, and told her “What’s mine is yours.” He’d left it at that but if Belle had to really be honest with herself, it gave her a warm feeling in the pit of her belly.

They were moving toward something. And she had the sense that Gold was starting to become more comfortable with it. She wasn’t sure how or when, though she suspected it had something to do with his son. He was quiet on that front, never really speaking of his feelings. Gold _acted_. He didn’t wax poetic. He showed her in countless ways that he cared for her. But the words? She wasn’t sure she’d ever hear them from him, wasn’t sure he could ever say them.

“What are you doing?” he asked late one night when he happened upon her in the study. They still slept separately. Most nights at least. There were times when she woke up from a nightmare, when she felt the pangs of missing her father so strongly, that crawling into bed with Gold was the only thing that settled her mind and, perhaps even more importantly, her heart. He never said a word, simply pulled her close and let her fall back to sleep enclosed in his arms.

He never pressed for more, though Belle admitted that she _wanted_ more. She had ever since…well…ever since he had run half crazed from his own room after giving her pleasure the likes of which she had never experienced before. She had been confused about that. Perhaps for far too long. But she suspected the truth lay somewhere between his ex-wife and years of celibacy.

“I’m reading,” she pointed out. There was ire in her voice, but the smile she gave him as she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye took away the bite.

“Well…yes…” he started to say.

“Herding,” she answered.

“Herding,” he repeated.

She finally set the book down to look up at him. He looked tired, she realized. But there was something there, _something_ that made her want to give him her full attention at that moment. “It never hurts to be extra prepared.”

“Indeed,” he said. He didn’t move from the doorway of the library, one hand gripping his cane, the other seeming to almost hold himself up as he leaned against the frame.

“How did things go?”

“Go?”

She shook her head once. “Your son?”

She watched him take a deep breath. “Well, I think? The wheels are turning at least. There’s nothing more I can do right now. The ball’s in my ex’s court.”

“Not where you want it to be, really.” She _knew_. She understood. The last thing he would want is for _her_ to be in control.

He watched her for a moment and then finally shifted, moved a little further into the room. "No it's definitely not." He was quiet, mouth slightly turned down, and she worried she had upset him, somehow created a tension that hadn't been there for some time. Things had been going well, she supposed. There was tension with his son. There was still a lot of sadness lurking in the corners of her mind, sometimes overshadowing the quiet moments that should have been good ones. But for the most part things have _settled_.

They work with the sheep.

They have dinner together.

They relax and read in their separate rooms.

And they dance around their attraction to each other and their feelings. She wouldn’t quite say things had cooled off between them. There was an undercurrent there that she was all too aware of. But ever since she had thrown herself at him the night of her father’s funeral, there had been nothing. The occasional touch, a look, but nothing more.

“I have something to show you,” Gold finally said.

“And that would be…” She let the words trail off.

He just stood there and finally crooked a finger. “Come with me.” And then he turned away.

Some invitations were just too good to resist, really. Though she did wonder what the mystery was about. She followed him down the hallway and to his study, a place she rarely ever went. He hid in there when he wanted to be left alone and so she kept to her own room or their shared spaces. The library, the living room, the kitchen. It was easier than catching him at a bad moment in his own private space.

He was more confident of himself these days, she realized. He leaned on the cane, but it was a slight lean. He moved with more grace and ease. She wondered when that happened, really. The Gold she first came to work for was careful, concerned, consistently put off about the injury and the cane it required. But sometime in the last month it had simply become a part of him, almost an extension of himself. He used it with an ease that surprised her, shifting it from one hand to the other as he gathered up the extra chair in the room and pulled it in close to the desk.

“Come,” he said as she hesitated in the doorway. “Sit.”

“Do I get a treat if I do?” she asked and crossed her arms over her chest. There was a smirk on her face, one that was answered by the one on Gold’s.

“I’m sure I can think of something.”

The smile turned into laughter as she did as he requested. Gold took the seat next to her and she was pleased to see a smile soften the hard planes of his face for moment. He didn't smile enough, she realized, though he smiled more these days than he had in the first days she had come to live there. And every smile was rare and so when bestowed upon her, she felt special somehow. Like she had dug in and brought out something that the world normally didn't see.

"So what are you showing me?"

He just shook his head. "So impatient." His fingers flew over the keyboard and she watched as he logged into a website. She saw the pictures before any of the text but she knew right away what it meant.

"A herding website?"

He turned to her and one eyebrow rose just slightly. "We shepherds _have_ entered the 21st century, you know."

"It's not…" She tried to hide her smile behind her hands. "Ok it _is_. I just didn't expect it."

"Obviously." The dry sarcasm behind the word made her grin.

"So show me?"

He shook his head and turned back to the computer. "This gentleman is well known in the field. He's had several champion dogs. A few years back he started videotaping one of his new dogs and talking about how he trained him. And then voila! This website was born." He leaned back as he spoke, waved his hand toward the screen.

Belle leaned closer and clicked on a link. After a moment of loading, a video popped up. _Now let me tell you about this stick_ , a kindly older man was saying. He was short, stout, with a close-cropped white beard. Certainly nothing like Gold, but he seemed open and honest. And perhaps more importantly, knowledgeable.

"Why didn't you show this to me before?" She turned the volume down slightly as the man went on about the stick he used to help direct his dog. The same type of stick Gold had once given her.

Gold watched her for a moment. "You weren't ready."

"But…"

"You can't learn herding from videos."

"But…"

He shook his head quickly. "No buts. You can't learn from videos." He gave her a look out of the side of his eye. "Call this…a study guide."

She rolled her eyes. "This isn't a test."

"You don't think that's what a trial _is_?"

She leaned back slightly in her seat. " _Am_ I going to a trial?" The idea had been bandied about, David had suggested it, Baedden had wanted her to do it.

"Yes," he finally said. "Yes I think you should."

Belle just watched him for a moment. “Thank you.”

“For…”

“For having faith in me. For teaching me all of this.” She waved her hands at the screen. There was so much more. So much to thank him for. He’d given her a job when no one else would. He was there when her father went through hell and passed on. He changed the whole course of her life. She had just been a lonely girl from Australia, new to town and in a bad place. And now she was here. With him. In whatever type of relationship they were in.

“It’s…”

She stood them, stepped closer. “Don’t tell me it’s nothing.”

“I was going to say it’s no matter.” The words were spoken with a smile at least.

Belle shook her head, bent over slightly and put her hands on either side of his face. “But it _is_. It very much is.”

And then she leaned forward and kissed him. It was soft at first, almost chaste. He didn’t move beneath her for a moment, frozen in place by the unexpected intimacy. There hadn’t been much as of late, not with Baedden visiting, not since he turned her down the day of her father’s funeral.

But _this_. This had been building between them. And she was ready this time. Most certainly ready. When she tilted her head, touched a tongue to his lips, he moved quickly, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into the chair with him.

She ended up straddling him, balanced precariously on a desk chair that really was not meant to hold two people. She shifted slightly, put her hands on the back of the chair as he deepened the kiss, and she felt the earth move.

Well, not the earth.

The chair, actually.

It took her only a moment to realize that it was tipping backward. Her eyes met Gold’s and it seemed like they hung there, just waiting for the inevitable, as if time simply slowed down. And then his eyes widened and his hands flailed out to try to stop it somehow. Belle tried to push herself off to the side in the hopes of not landing completely on top of him.

They ended up in a tangled heap, the arm of the chair digging into her side, the breath knocked out of her. Gold let out a noise that sounded half annoyed, half pained.

Belle rolled away, took a deep breath. “Are you ok?”

“Nothing’s broken, if that’s what you mean,” came the rather dry reply.

She let out a small bark of laughter. “Nothing here either.” Rolling over onto her side, she found Gold in a similar position, chair between them, eyes crinkled at the corners. “You seem none the worse for the wear.”

He shook his head and then was quiet. “What’s going on here?”

“Here?” she managed to get out.

“This, us.” He attempted to wave a hand but nearly fell back over in the process.

Belle had to bite back another laugh. He looked…serious. Not something she usually saw out of him. “I don’t know,” she finally admitted, biting her lip before continuing. “But I like it.”

She watched as his eyes darkened slightly, pupils blown out. He wanted her. He wanted _this_. She knew that much. “Belle…” he started to say and she could see the way his mouth turned down slightly, the way his eyes moved away from hers for a moment.

“Tavish.” He looked back up at her as she spoke his name. “I’m not going anywhere.” The honest truth. She was in this for the long haul, whatever that might be, wherever it might end up. She really had no idea. But she wasn’t even sure that was _important_ at this moment. Right now she was here. He was here. And they were forming… _something_ that felt right.

“No?” She wasn’t quite sure if he sounded uncertain of her or _certain_ that she would leave him.

“No.” Conviction. It was what she had and what he deserved.

He was silent for a moment before pushing the chair out of the way with one sweep of his arm. Belle jumped slightly and then laughed as he pulled her close to him, his mouth coming down on hers again.

It wasn't a perfect kiss. It was messy, with laughter interspersed with moments of near breathlessness. When she rolled over, Gold coming to rest on top of her, and hit her head against the ground, she groaned.

"We should take this elsewhere," she muttered.

"Elsewhere…like…"

She shook her head, reached out a hand to ruffle his hair. "Don’t make me beg."

"Of course not." He stood then, leveraging himself to his feet by grabbing onto the chair and then the desk behind him. His cane was in hand as he leaned over and offered her a hand up.

She took it gratefully and offered him a gentle smile when they were both on their feet. Gold was staring at her. Just watching her and there was _something_ behind his eyes. Confusion, excitement, terror all wrapped up into one. “This is more awkward than I thought,” she muttered.

“I’m sorry,” he answered quickly and she squeezed his hand.

“Don’t…”

“I am…we can…”

“No,” she said, squeezed his hand harder, almost painfully. “I want to. Don’t back out now.”

He nodded and allowed her to pull him after her toward his room. His, for whatever reason. The bed was bigger, she thought he’d be more comfortable. No idea really, but she moved to there as swiftly as she dared, Gold holding onto her hand almost too tightly.

When she reached the room, she let go of his hand and moved to the lamp. But he stopped her, moving faster than she could have anticipated, one hand coming out to lightly grasp her wrist. “Please.” The word was quiet, but sharp.

She turned back to him, could barely make him out in the dimness of the room. “I…”

“It’s been a long time.”

“I know.” She tried to offer a smile, but realized he couldn’t see it in the darkness. “For me too,” she added. He was quiet then and she wasn’t sure what to do. For a moment they both stood there, his hand still encircling her wrist, her eyes trying to search his in the dark. And then she stepped forward, brought her hands up to his face as he finally released his hold on her wrist and kissed him. Softly, almost chaste. "We don't have to if…"

"No," he cut her off with. "I want to."

"Good." She was relieved when he pulled her back in for another kiss, still gentle, but as he wrapped his arms around her and deepened the kiss it took on something new, something vibrant. His hands traced down her back, lightly touching, coming to rest on her hips as he pulled her tight against him.

She could _feel_ him, feel the hardness pressing against her, feel the muscles of his arms as they held her tight. When she pulled away from the kiss and reached for his hand, he made a small strangled noise somewhere in the back of his throat. And she smiled.

"Come here," she whispered and pulled him down to the bed. He hesitated for only a moment before joining her, laying down at her side and pushing her lightly until she laid back. She wanted to let him have this moment, control things. She didn't know why, but she knew that was somehow _important_. And so as he kissed her again and then traced open mouthed kisses down the side of her neck, she let herself just go.

One of his hands pushed her shirt up slightly, traced the skin there delicately, and she laughed. "That tickles!"

"Does it now?" There was an amused bent to the words as he continued and she tried to push him away. He fought back though and she was pleased to hear him laugh. He didn't often and his laugh always made her heart soar just a little bit.

And somehow that made it all easier. Her shirt was tossed aside, her bra going with it after a few moments of fumbling. "I'm not…" he started to say and she stopped him with a kiss.

His shirt went next and she spread her hand out across his chest, enjoying the taut muscles there. He was slender, wiry, but she knew what kind of hard work he did and it showed. His belly was soft though and when she pushed him back to trace her own kisses down chest to belly, she felt it quiver beneath her lips.

"Belle…"

"Stop talking," she whispered against his belly and felt him jerk in response to the tickling of her breath. She reached down and cupped him and he let out a small hiss. "Yes. Yes I like _that_." She stroked him for a moment through his pants and then moved her hands up to undo the buttons of his pants, sliding the zipper down. When she started to reach inside his underwear to touch him, he stopped her, his hand closing almost painfully around her wrist for a moment before he relaxed.

"If you touch me, it's over." His voice was tight, his accent thicker than she'd ever heard it. The words were almost incomprehensible but she got the gist, pulling herself up and kissing him again.

He pulled the rest of his clothes off and Belle managed to shimmy out of her pants and underwear and when he pulled her back into his arms, it was all warmth and bare skin. "God," Belle managed to get out before he kissed her again. It felt so odd, so foreign, and yet so _good_ to be pressed up against him with nothing between them. And when his hand came up to touch her, to press into the wet heat of her, it felt like the most right thing ever.

"I need you," she managed to get out, her voice husky, barely recognizable to her own ears.

She could barely see him in the darkness of the room, but was almost sure she saw him nod before he drew himself up over her. And then she felt him at her entrance, spread her legs a little further to let him in.

It had truly been a long time and Gold was larger than she expected, but she was wet and she wanted him so very much. He went slowly and she had had _enough_. No slowness no waiting. She reached around him, grasping his butt in both hands and pulled him to her. She heard his gasp even as she echoed it.

It felt _right_. It felt like coming home, if that were even a possible emotion here. And then he started moving inside her and she could think of nothing else, but the thrust of his hips, the feel of him. He reached a hand between them and found her clit, using his thumb to circle it. Once, twice, and then she was lost, her body tightening in release.

His thrusts grew more erratic and he followed her soon after.

He held her close for a moment before rolling off to the side and pulling her into an embrace. There were no words, none that needed to be said at that moment. She simply lay there, lightly stroking his chest.

She was sure, as she drifted off to sleep held in the protective circle of his arms, that she felt a tear drop or two land in her hair.


	27. Chapter 27

"Are you sure I'm ready for this?" They had packed up the truck that morning, bringing plenty of water and food for Bandit and some snacks for themselves. The trial site was over an hour away and they wanted to be prepared.

She didn't feel prepared.

Well, she did. But at the same time she didn't. Gold had prepped her well, drilling the movements over and over again, working with her tirelessly over the past few weeks. Their relationship had changed during that time. He seemed more open with her, somehow, as if finally consummating whatever sort of relationship they were creating for themselves allowed him to actually show he cared.

And he did, she knew. She could see it in the way he took extra care with her, the way he paid attention to her, the way he was less short with her than anyone else. If David Nolan showed up and needled him, Gold let him have it. But when Belle screwed up and the herding went to hell, he simply said _Try again_. No sharp words. No rudeness.

In the evenings they had taken to watching videos of great herding demonstrations so she could see what it looked like when done _right_. And what it looked like when done wrong. They watched video after video of novice, even advanced, shepherds make mistakes. And Gold made no bones about it. The mistakes were almost always the handler's fault. _You know what I see when I look in the mirror? 99 percent of my dog's problems._ She hadn't forgot that. Bandit was not the one at fault in almost all the times they made a mistake. _She_ was. Gold was quick to point out the handful of times Bandit simply ignored her because she got _too_ excited. It happened.

And it was likely to happen at the trial.

Gold was absolutely honest about the trial. It was stressful. Terribly so. You were doing something you've always done on your own in front of a large crowd and judges. Every time he brought up the trial, Belle felt an odd fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She wasn't the sort who liked to be the center of attention. She remembered, at the tender age of five, she had wanted to try dance. She had _loved_ the dancers, loved their grace and their beauty and the tutus they wore. So her father had signed her up for classes.

She had done well, almost a natural at it. And then she had to perform at a recital. And she had frozen, the lights and crowd and noise _too much_. And she had run off stage, never to return again. She decided that day she wanted to be a librarian. It was an odd sort of choice for a five-year-old, but she had stuck to it.

Ending up a shepherd wasn't _exactly_ in her plans. But she couldn't complain.

"So this trial…" Belle started to ask. They were perhaps only twenty minutes out from the trial location and the butterflies had been set free in her stomach.

"Yes. I should probably tell you something about it." Gold's voice sounded half amused, half something else Belle couldn't quite define. Worry, maybe. Nervousness. He ultimately _was_ her trainer after all and she imagined that put _his_ name on the line.

"Well, you've already told me about it…"

"Oh but I haven't.” And this time she was sure there was amusement there. "I haven't told you about the people you're likely to meet."

"People? Such as…"

It turned out Gold had a long history with some of the competitors. He had had a short-lived relationship with a woman named Cora ( _very_ short-lived, he stressed), who was likely to be there. He'd apparently heard from _someone_ that she had been training her daughter and was expecting this to be her debut.

"So fair warning then I see?" Nonchalant. That's what she was trying for at least. But it made it all so much more _real_ , so much more important. She never quite imagined she'd meet anyone Gold had been with before. _It's been a long time_ to her had meant that chance was next to none. He assured her that whatever he'd had with Cora had been blessedly short. The woman was hard, heartless, and they had ended up rivals on the trial circuit instead of lovers.

But still.

"Fair warning indeed," Gold returned.

The rest of the drive was quiet and peaceful, Belle lost in her thoughts somewhere. When they pulled off the road, following the signs to the competitor's parking, Belle realized it was all _real_ , all about to happen.

They stepped out of the truck and were instantly approached by an older man. "King," Gold said, his voice short.

"Never thought I'd see you around these parts again," the other man said. His voice was clipped, almost annoyed.

"Don't worry, King. I'm not here to kick your arse." Belle watched King's eyes narrow. "I've long since left that nonsense behind me." King looked like he was about to say something when Gold suddenly drew her forward. "Albert King, meet Belle French."

"A student?" King's eyebrows rose on the words.

"Of sorts," Gold said, keeping an arm almost protectively around her.

"I see." And the way he looked back and forth between them led her to believe he did indeed see. There was something rather sharp about the man. She was sure he saw the nature of their relationship without Gold having to spell it out. "Well, Miss French. Best of luck to you then." He turned and walked away without so much as a word to Gold.

"That was…"

"Albert King. He's still bitter I beat his best dog eight years ago."

"Right," Belle responded with.

"Come on," Gold said. "Let's get you registered before we run into any other old skeletons."

"From your closet?" She couldn't help the teasing note to her voice.

"Something like that." He sounded almost grim.

Registration went smoothly. She got her number, her place in the line-up, instructions on where to be and what to do and not to do. It seemed that trials were fairly strict about interacting with other competitors and keeping your dogs under control. An out of control dog could mean a disaster for a competitor and those who didn't keep good control over their dogs were generally barred from further trials.

"Mr. Nolan." Belle turned at Gold's words and saw David approaching them. True to his word, he didn't have any dogs with him and was looking completely relaxed. Mary Margaret was at his side, baby Emma, held close in a sling.

"You came." Belle reached out a hand to the man and squeezed it briefly. "And how is our wee one today?"

Mary Margaret was beaming. "She's the happiest baby I know."

"Of course she is," Gold muttered. Belle was about to say something else when she saw the look that swept over Gold's face. His eyes narrowed slightly, mouth thinned, the lines looking more pronounced. "Mr. Nolan, would you please take Belle to the waiting area?" His voice had turned almost conversational, _too_ nice really.

And Belle knew what that meant.

She just knew it.

She had spent enough time with Gold by now to recognize that when he was at his most dangerous, his darkest, his voice was measured and calm.

"Well, this is _quite_ the surprise." Belle turned to see the woman approach. Older, close to Gold's age, with pinched features and eyes that were far too knowing to be as guileless as she attempted to appear.

"Nolan," Gold muttered.

"Belle," David started to say but instead she turned away from him, linked her arm with Gold's, and felt him stiffen next to her.

"And just who is _this_ little strumpet?" the woman asked. She spoke without using her mouth, as if it had simply frozen into place. There was an edge to her voice, one that should have made Belle uncomfortable but instead made her hackles rise, her eyes narrow just slightly.

" _Cora_ ," Gold said and there was nothing _nice_ about the tone.

"Belle French," Belle said, holding out her hand. She wasn't surprised when the woman didn't take it, glancing down at the proffered hand as if she had offered her poison. "I've heard _so_ much about you."

Cora's eyes flitted to Gold and then back to her. "Have you now?" That edge was still there. Tempered with... _something_. Belle couldn’t quite explain what that something was. Gold had assured her that whatever he had had with Cora was short-lived at best. _I didn’t lie when I said there had been no one since my ex-wife_. Cora had been nothing. But the way the woman looked at him, like she was a wolf eying her prey, made Belle want to go on the offense.

“Oh yes.” And she smiled. But she knew it didn’t reach her eyes. Two could play at this game.

“All of it good, I’m sure.” Cora looked briefly to Gold before her eyes settled back on Belle.

Belle smiled at that. “Hardly,” she responded with, the word dry. As Cora’s eyes widened slightly, Belle turned to walk away. Gold didn’t immediately follow and so Belle stopped, turned back. “Aren’t you coming?”

He gave one last look to Cora, something unreadable, but she was almost sure there was a smirk playing about his lips. “Of course, dear.” And then he stepped closer to her, held out an arm and they walked off, arms linked, in lock step.

David Nolan gave one last look over his shoulder, grinned at the woman they were leaving behind, and departed with them.

Sometimes it was just easier, Belle realized, to say something without even saying anything. Cora was nothing. She knew that. And she was thankful that Gold had given her some sort of warning about the woman. But still, she could see the way his face tightened and the look of annoyance in his eyes when she had approached. Even if she hadn’t known a thing about any potential past relationship, she would have known she wasn’t any sort of threat.

“That was brilliant,” Mary Margaret said as she walked closer to Belle.

“I…”

“No seriously,” she continued on with. “That woman has been a thorn in everyone’s side. I can’t _tell_ you the amount of times she’s said crass things to David.” Mary Margaret leaned closer to her. “Worse even than Gold.”

Belle let out a laugh at that. She couldn’t help it. She’d heard some of the things Gold had said to the man, after all. Insults to his intelligence, his ability to work sheep. If Cora was _worse_ , she wasn't sure she wanted to know much more.

* * *

The wait had been nerve-wracking. Gold and Belle had watched the competitors before her, saw the triumphs and the disasters. There were people who were absolutely new to trialing, people who had trained many sheepdogs before trying out their young dogs. Gold watched each with a critical eye. Belle could beat them all if she put her mind to it.

Belle had paced. Then watched. Then paced some more. "I can't do this," she had murmured. More than once. Gold spent most of the time trying to keep her calm and the other half worried about her. He hadn't seen her like this. The Belle he had come to know and…well…was calm, cool. She faced down the likes of Cora and put her in her place. She put up with his moods with grace and dignity and occasionally a little anger

But this Belle who looked so completely out of sorts, almost green around the edges, was not the Belle he knew.

"Are you ok?" he finally asked, reaching out and gripping her upper arms lightly. It stopped her from moving at least.

"Yes, yes I'm fine," she muttered and tried to keep moving.

"You're upsetting Bandit."

He watched her glance down at the dog and she instantly softened, squatting down next to the dog. "I'm sorry, girl," she murmured before standing again. "I'll be fine."

But she wasn't.

He was sure of it.

When the person before her was out there, he handed her the crook she used and sent her to the place the next in line was to wait. He watched as she took some deep breaths, her eyes glued to the action. The person before her was having a decent enough run. A few bobbles here and there that would take off points. The outrun was a little short, the dog lifting the sheep too quickly. But they went through the first set of gates fairly smoothly. He could see Belle lean forward as they did so, watching, intent. She knew what to do. She knew what to look out for.

And then the person before her was done. They just barely missed getting the sheep penned. Two of the five went in, but that was it. Time was called and their run was over. Not the biggest failure, but he could see the lines of disappointment on the young man's face. _Better luck next time. You'll get it. It was a good first run_ …The words were all platitudes, but he could see it lifting the man's spirits nonetheless.

"Go get 'em Belle," he whispered.

David Nolan appeared beside him. "She'll be fine."

He shot the other man a look. "She's nervous."

"Of course she is…"

"Yes but this is _different_." He waved one hand in the air.

Nolan just watched him for a moment. "You care about her." And he sounded slightly surprised.

"Of course I do," Gold snapped and then realized what he said. Nolan. The man brought out the worst in him. Or maybe the best. Belle would definitely think it was the best.  "Dammit," he muttered.

"I knew it, old man."

Gold just shook his head and turned away to watch Belle.

She stepped up to the starting point, got the go ahead from the judges. And then he took a deep breath as she released Bandit. He couldn't hear the release words. _Away to me_. And then Bandit shot off to the right. He had given her that much information about the course at least. The sheep needed to drive down just slightly to the left to get to the first gates. A simple enough maneuver.

And Bandit looked brilliant. He could see Belle's excitement could see her leaning forward. She blew the whistle once, twice. Bandit stopped. The sheep slowed. They crept closer to the gates. Slow and steady, he had pointed out. If she moved Bandit too quickly, if she became aware of how much time had passed, she would screw up. And so slowly. Ever so slowly, the sheep crept toward the gate.

But they were moving.

And it was a straight path.

All she had to do was keep them on that path and she'd have the first part of the run.

But then he watched Belle glance off to the side, watched her give the judge's a nervous look. And then she froze.

Bandit moved in closer to the sheep. Too close.

The sheep started to scatter. He wanted to shout, wanted to tell her what to do. Blow the whistle, stop the dog. Stop the action. But Belle just stared, frozen to the spot. And Bandit moved in closer.

One sheep veered away, moving back toward the larger flock at the top of the field. That seemed to break Belle out of the trance she was in, but it was too little too late. She had lost Bandit. She had lost the sheep. Her whistle rang frantically and Bandit stopped, started, stopped again, and then rushed in toward the sheep.

When she gripped one of the sheep by the leg, something he had only seen her do once, the judge's whistle rang out.

The run was over.

It had barely begun.

Belle glanced over at the judges and he could the whiteness to her face, the tension. She almost didn't comprehend but finally shook herself and called Bandit back to her. Gold shot Nolan a dark look before gripping his cane and rushing to the fence to meet Belle.

"Belle," he started to say and she blew past him, Bandit close on her heels. "Belle!" He tried not to shout her name but couldn't help it. Still she paid him no mind. Just kept moving.

And he realized what she was doing. She wanted out of there. She wanted someplace private. So he allowed her to rush off, knowing he couldn't keep up, knowing she didn't _want_ him to keep up. "Maybe let her be?" Nolan said, coming up behind him.

Gold shook his head. "No. I don't think she should be alone right now."

Nolan nodded and he headed off. Slowly this time, each step measured. He wanted to give her enough time to blow off steam, cry, whatever she needed to do before he stepped back into the picture. She was embarrassed. He knew that much. But she also needed to understand that these things happened. And more often than she thought.

When he made his way to the truck, he found Belle sitting in the shade at the rear of it, Bandit in her lap. He took a deep breath and said her name.

She looked up at him and he could see the tears in her eyes, the tracks down her cheeks. "I should have known I couldn't do this." The words were quiet, but firm. She meant them.

"You _can_."

"No." She shook her head, misery written in every line of her face. "You don't understand."

"Belle I've _seen_ you do this entire course. You could do it in your sleep…"

"Not when people are watching." He said nothing, just watched her. She repeated the words. "Everything seemed so easy at first. But then…there were judges. And Cora. And _you_. And I just couldn't focus. I lost her."

"You have stage fright." There was no question there. He hadn't known. How could he have? Belle was always so relaxed and when he brought up trials, she had seemed _excited_.

She nodded and hugged Bandit tighter. "When I was just a little girl, I wanted to be a dancer. But I froze, Tavish. I froze. Just like I did today. And any thoughts of becoming a dancer went right out the window."

"And so you holed yourself up with your books and your library."

"Yes. Libraries are easy. They don't put you on display. They don't _judge_ you."

"I didn't know," he murmured and reached out a hand to her.

She took it, squeezing it lightly before pulling herself closer to him. No easy feat with a 40-pound Border Collie still in her lap. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer, her head coming to rest on his shoulder.

"So we don't trial," he finally said. "There's no shame in that…"

She was silent for a moment before pulling away and meeting his eyes. "No," she said. "No, I _want_ to." The words were firm, resolute.

"You…"

"I do. I want Bandit to have a chance to shine. She's such a good dog. She gives so much. She _gave_ so much. Did you see her out there?" Her smile was a watery one, but it was a good sign.

"I did."

"She looked great. That outrun…"

"It was beautiful," Gold cut her off with. And it was. Bandit had looked gorgeous running out and around the flock. She had picked them up perfectly, just as they had done in practice so many times before. The dog had been simply marvelous. And she could have had it all, if only Belle hadn't frozen.

"Then we need to practice," Gold said.

"We have…"

"No. Not like we always have. Proofing," he said, as if she would understand exactly what he meant.

"Proofing?" He watched as she blinked and while there were still tears in her eyes, he could see her weighing the word and the implications behind it. He could _see_ her mind working.

"We need people," he muttered. "People and fake judges and a tent."

"What?"

"Yes," he said. "We're going to proof the hell out this. And when you get to the next trial, it will be so old hat you won't even _think_ about the judges or the people watching."

He had a plan, such as it was. Now he just had to implement it.


	28. Chapter 28

"What's wrong here?"

Belle rolled over, grimaced. Gold had even moved a television into their bedroom in the past couple weeks. She couldn’t count the number of videos they had watched of herding, but the number had to be into the hundreds by now. They had blown through his collection of videos from past trials, even critiquing some of his own trial performances. And now they were on to YouTube, of all places, searching for any video of herding they could find.

"I don't _know_." She didn't mean for the words to come out on such a whine but she was tired. Dead tired. And dead sick of watching the videos.

She wanted to sleep. She wanted to forget the whole blasted thing.

"Of course you do," Gold said, poking one long finger into her shoulder.

Belle opened an eye, watched the video for a second. "His commands are late."

"Of course," Gold answered.

"They're always late," Belle muttered.

"Do you know why?" Gold shot back. There was that voice again. That _teacher_ voice. They may be in bed, they may be curled up together, one bit of intimacy they had begun to allow themselves. But that didn’t stop him from putting on his teacher hat.

She stayed silent and Gold just gave her one of _those_ looks before speaking again.

"Because they are _reacting_. They are not anticipating. A good shepherd can see disaster looming and can stop it before it happens. He can tell when the dog is getting too excited and may rush the sheep. He can tell when the dog is cutting too close or when a sheep is about to try to make a break. He anticipates and issues commands with quick confidence."

Belle yawned. "Of course he does." She rolled over again.

"Belle," Gold said, voice low. A warning. "I'm serious," he muttered.

"I know you are," she said and yawned.

Gold sighed. "Alright. I get the point."

“Good,” Belle murmured and shut her eyes.

“We’ll pick up with this tomorrow,” Gold said and she could almost _hear_ the grin in his voice as he got up and shut off the lights. When he crawled back into bed, he reached over and she went into his arms easily. It had become like this, lately. Intimacy came more easily. He touched her more, sometimes just a light brush of his hand on her shoulder, sometimes more. But he seemed open with her somehow. There was still a part of him that was closed off, that she was fighting against constantly. But it was smaller, less noticeable on a day to day basis.

“I’m sure,” Belle muttered against his shoulder. “How are things going with your son?” It was a question she was uncertain of asking. He had been working with lawyers, fighting it out with his ex-wife before they took it to court.

She felt him tense a moment before he spoke. “Well, I think.” A pause. “She’s fighting it.” She heard no tremor coming from his voice but there was something behind the words, a quiet sort of desperation.

“You knew she would.” He said nothing in response to her words. “How’s Bae holding up?”

“He’s determined.” She could hear a slight smile through the words. “It seems he has far less of his father in him and far more of…well… _you_.” He pulled back at the words. “How did you do it? Influence him like this? My son is so…brave. So resolute…So…”

“So stubborn?” Belle asked and brought a hand to his cheek. She couldn’t really see him in the darkness, but she knew he was trying to study her face anyway.

“Something like that.”

“I think you’ll be surprised to realize your son has _always_ been like that. He’s a good kid, Tavish.” And she meant it. She’d only known him for two weeks, but he was a _good kid_.

“I know. He’s just…”

“ _Everything_ like you,” she cut him off with. She knew where this was going. The same round about conversation they’d been having ever since he first told her about his son and his ex-wife. He was afraid, he didn’t do enough to fight, his son was nothing like him.

But clearly he was nothing like his mother, who Belle had gathered had inflicted great pain, both physical and emotional on Gold. Perhaps even on Baedden as well. And so that left his father. Somewhat estranged though they may be. Apart though they may be.

Gold held her tighter, for just a moment, but then the tension eased and she felt his arms go slack. “We’ll get him back,” Belle whispered.

But she knew he was already asleep. And there was little more for her to say on the matter. They would. _Gold_ would. Baedden would come live with him. And Belle? Well, more and more she was certain she had found where she wanted to spend the rest of her life. Their relationship might not be perfect. There might be more bumps in the road than places of smooth sailing. But still, she was sure _this_ was where she wanted to be.

* * *

Belle rushed out of the house. There were  _people_ there. Three cars had come up the drive in just the last five minutes and Dove, bless his overly large soul, was out there talking to them already. “Dove,” she called as she stepped out the door and rushed to the man.

He was huge. And that was putting it mildly. Standing next to him was like standing next to an unmovable tree. He had to be nearly seven feet tall and did the jobs that Gold had once hired her for with so much ease that she wasn’t sure why Gold hadn’t tried to hire _him_ in the first place.

“Miss Belle,” Dove responded with, calm as ever. She wasn’t sure anything ever ruffled the man. And watching Gold get irate with him was a little like watching a sparrow attack a bull. Not that she would admit that to Gold, but the difference in size between them was something that never ceased to amuse her.

“What’s going on?”

She didn’t recognize the people getting out of the cars. Not on any sort of _I know your name_ level. She had seen a few of them in town, at Granny’s, once or twice at the library.

“Gold invited ‘em,” Dove said and turned away. He had work to do and there was one thing that Belle knew Dove was serious about and that was work. She let him go. She couldn’t exactly stop the great behemoth of a man even if she wanted to. And besides, _Gold_ had invited these people. People he didn’t know, people he probably didn’t even care about, to his home.

“Ah, excellent,” she heard Gold say as he stepped out the front door. He was already dressed for the day, looking every bit the shepherd he was. Cable knit sweater, comfortable jeans, hair loose and blowing in the slight breeze. “I was hoping they would come.”

Belle turned and saw more cars coming up the drive to the house. Two more, then a third and then there were six more cars who had driven up and parked on the lawn where Gold waved them too. She saw David Nolan and waved, then saw Ariel and rushed over to see her. “What on _earth_ are you doing here?”

Ariel returned the quick hug. “Mr. Gold asked us to come.”

Belle glanced back at Gold, who had his back turned to her as he spoke to some of the people getting out of their cars. They all looked just slightly confused, staring around themselves like they had entered another world. Maybe they had after all. It wasn’t every day, or _any_ day really, when they were invited up to Gold’s farm.

“Why?”

Ariel just shrugged. And Ruby, who arrived with her grandmother in tow, looked from Belle to Ariel to Gold and smirked. “Because he’s crazy?”

She was saved having to respond to that by Gold’s calling her name. “I’ll be back guys,” Belle said with an apologetic smile before rushing off to join him.

“What is…”

“Proofing,” he answered. And he smirked. Of course he did.

“Proofing,” Belle responded with.

Gold nodded. “These people are your judges, your audience, your _Coras_.”

“My…” She shook her head. “Tavish, have you lost your mind? These people don’t actually know anything about sheep herding.”

“Of course they don’t. But that doesn’t matter. They’re here to watch you perform.” He waved an arm at the group who had gathered and she noted that more had come in the meantime. “They’re going to make noise, eat food, shout things, play with their dogs. They’re going to be _obnoxious_ and always in your line of vision.”

And then she understood. She didn’t know why she didn’t before. But suddenly it clicked. He wanted to put pressure on her. He wanted to mimic what she would see at a trial. She wasn’t nervous about her _abilities_. She wasn’t nervous about her dog’s abilities. She was nervous about being _watched_ , about being judged. “You brought all these people here. For me? Invited them onto your property and into your home because of _me_?” Her voice was soft when she asked the words.

“I wouldn’t do it for anyone else,” Gold pointed out and he was so damned _reasonable_ about the whole thing. As if this were something he did each and every day. As if she knew exactly how much he cared.

And he _did_ care, damn him. She knew it. And surely _he_ knew that she knew it. She just shook her head. "So what do we do?"

"That's my girl." He reached over and squeezed her hand.

"Am I?" Belle murmured and for some reason the answer really mattered.

"Are you what?"

"Your girl?"

He hesitated at that, stopped and watched her for a moment. "Yes," he finally said. "I believe you are."

She smiled at him. She wanted to kiss him. But he had moved away from her and she could see just how hard he was gripping the cane as he limped steadily away. It was hard for him to admit he cared. She was sure he hadn't cared about anyone besides his son in a long time and she knew how poorly that had turned out over the years. It had gotten better, but his son was still living hundreds of miles away and now, back under the influence of his ex-wife, anything could be happening. Caring didn't come easily to Gold. But from seeing how much he cared for his son, when he _did_ care, it went deep.  Deep and true and for life.

She wasn't sure if that's where this was going.

But maybe, just maybe, it was.

Shaking her head, she followed Gold out to the edge of the field. Men were setting up a tent, placing chairs. Her eyes widened as she turned to look at him.

"Proofing," he muttered.

"You're recreating the whole thing?" Her eyes were wide.

"I even thought about calling up Cora," he muttered and Belle laughed. It felt _good_ to laugh.

"I don't think anything is worth _that_ ," she pointed out.

"Perhaps not." And the words were amused. "So you'll have to do without her. But you have David Nolan, the judge. And his assistant Mary Margaret."

"And the sometimes screaming Emma," Mary Margaret said, rocking Emma as she started to fuss a little.

He shot her a look and Mary Margaret just offered up a small shrug before continuing to coo at her baby. "You," Gold called out. A young man she hadn't ever seen before wandered over. "Good," Gold said and picked up a megaphone she hadn't noticed there before. "You're going to explain to the audience what's going on."

"Me? But I…"

"Oh it doesn't matter," Gold said with a slice of his hand through the air. "Just talk to people using it. Loud and clear. Make sure they can all hear you."

Belle watched as he scurried off, megaphone in hand.

"Excellent, so you then. And you." He pulled a couple away from their friends. "How would you like to be dog handlers?"

"What?"

"We need dogs milling about, getting in the way. We need the next dog up on deck. So we need _dogs_. Can I trust you to hold the leashes of two dogs?"

The woman nodded and the man, after glancing at her for a moment, nodded as well.

"Good then, follow me." Gold strode off with the couple following behind him, slower, casting glances over their shoulders at Belle as they did so.

"What the hell is that all about?" Ruby asked as she came up alongside Belle.

Belle just shook her head. "Proofing.” Gold seemed to want to make the entire experience as close to reality as possible. He was positioning people, putting them in chairs, having a man in a booth that sold food. Which he was apparently giving away for free at this crazy little shindig. He had people milling about, people standing at the fence taking photos, a man who was a little off his rocker selling _something_ to those who passed by. Jefferson, she thought she heard someone call him. _The Mad Hatter_ , someone else said, referring to the massive top hat he wore despite the warm temperature and informal nature of the day.

Literally _everything_ was there, except the competitors that scared her so.

But she would still have to perform in front of all these people. They were there to see _her_. And while there may not be the pressure of an actual trial, Belle felt her stomach tighten as she thought about everyone watching her. Everyone judging her. Everyone finding her wanting.

Gold returned shortly, the couple holding tight to the leashes of two of the younger dogs. She recognized Bailee, a young red and white who rushed forward at the end of her leash, all wiggles and excitement. If kept too close to the field, she was likely to try to bolt to work. She had a lot of impulse issues and she could see why Gold chose her to attempt to distract Belle and Bandit. The other was holding onto Ollie. He was older, around six, but still a bit impulsive. He tended to bark when excited. Another good choice.

Truth be told, she didn’t care about the dogs. She could deal with the dogs.

It was the _people_.

And more had arrived. Altogether, Gold had someone managed to gather up some thirty people to watch her attempt to herd with Bandit. Thirty people who had, amazingly, given him the benefit of the doubt and showed up at his place. Was it the promise of free food? She could see a couple of young college students in the mix and suspected it was for some of them. She well remembered her starving college days. Maybe it was curiosity? She could see many looking around and watching everything, watching Gold, watching them together.

There was a small part of her that wondered if he had threatened anyone. But no one looked put out and sullen, except maybe Leroy, but the bearded stout man _always_ seemed sullen. And especially so when there was no alcohol to be had.

And so she was led to believe that these people actually came. Because they wanted to. For whatever reason. They were here to support _her_ , to help _her_.

This wasn't even close to what she expected.

"Well, Miss French," she heard Gold say and she was about to correct him, remind him that she was _Belle_ and not _Miss French_ , but she realized he was stepping into a role. Organizer, she supposed. Indifferent and simply there to make sure things were kept on track.

"Yes," she said in response.

"It appears you're next." The words were said with a slight smirk and Belle found herself nodding, taking a deep breath.

She remembered being told that all too well at the trial. She remembered the cold feeling in the pit of her stomach. She turned around, watched the crowd, and tried to steady her nerves.

_It’s not a trial, Belle_.

_They’re your friends, Belle_.

_They’re here to support you, Belle_.

It was easy to tell herself that stuff as she stepped away from Gold and out onto the field. So easy. But she felt their eyes on her and she felt the judgment. If she screwed up…

Another deep breath. The sheep were readied at the top of the field. Five of them, gently grazing, unaware of the dog that was about to come into their midst.

Another breath. Bandit was at her side, half crouching, half sitting, ready to go. She would see her eyes watching the sheep with laser focus. The dog was not nervous. Why was she?

One more breath. And then she released her. _Come bye_. Bandit took off to her left, just a streak of black and white across the field. The distance to the sheep was further here than the field. Novice trials only allowed a maximum of one hundred yards. Here the sheep were at least a couple hundred away and so she had time to sit back and admire the way her dog moved. Bandit was beautiful. Fast, long fur flying in the wind, ears pulled back, tail curled into a perfect “J” as she moved. She would _never_ tired of watching her outruns.

And then she lifted the sheep. Perfectly. She slid in, crouched, started them moving. It was perfect and Belle felt herself smiling.

But then the sheep started heading down and she whistled Bandit around to move them toward the first set of gates.

She remembered they were watching.

All of them.

Thirty people, at least. Eyes watching her, watching her dog, waiting for her to make a mistake so they could laugh, jeer.

She whistled again, this time too late and the sheep moved off. Another whistle, two short ones, _move up move up_. Bandit was losing the sheep and she could see her start to fall apart, her head moving quickly back and forth between the sheep and Belle. She could see what would happen before it even began. Stress, biting the sheep, and being called off the field.

The same thing as before.

And she wasn’t sure she could stop it.

She heard a whistle, not hers, sharp and clear. And then felt someone beside her.

_Gold_. She knew it without even looking at him. Bandit was stopped, frozen on the field, as the sheep moved away from her. She watched, tongue out and eyes wide. But she didn’t move.

“They’re watching me,” Belle said and she hated how small her voice sounded.

“They’re not,” Gold began to say.

“They _are_ ,” she insisted.

He reached out and gently turned her shoulders, forced her look at him for a moment and then pointed back to where the tent was. “Look at them.” His voice was soft, but firm. He pointed at one young gentleman off to the side. “That one is making cow eyes at the young lady several seats away. He’s not paying one bit of attention to you.”

“But…”

His hand shifted, his finger moving in a different direction. “ _That_ one is more interested in her phone than in what you’re doing. And those two?” He pointed at a couple in the back. “They’re having an argument. Something ridiculous about dinner or who forgot to take out the trash.” She tried to interrupt again. “Just look at them, Belle.”

And she didn’t. She looked at _him_ because she was sure that was the first time he’d used her name in such an urgent way.

“Look at them,” he repeated. She gave him an assessing look and then turned back to the audience. If it could even be an audience. Because he was right. At least four people were staring at their phones, many of the others were carrying on conversations. A laugh from one particularly loud woman rang out and she saw her friend try to shush her, glancing quickly at Belle and then away.

“They’re not…”

“Of course they’re not. And when they _are_ watching? They’re watching Bandit.” She turned to look at her dog, still panting, still not moving from where Gold had whistled her to stop. “And you know why that is?”

“Because it’s all about the dog?”

“Hardly,” he responded with, his voice dry. “It’s a partnership. You know that. But they’re watching Bandit because she’s the interesting part of the pair. She’s the one moving. And she’s _gorgeous_ when she moves. They won’t be able to take their eyes off her. You? They don’t care about you.” The words should have been harsh but she knew what he was getting at. “You’re standing around in wellies with a stick in your hand and a whistle. You’re _boring_. And so they watch the dog. They cheer for the dog. They simply do not care about you.”

She sucked in a breath and watched him for a moment. “I know that…”

“Then take it to heart. You _must_ if you’re going to do this.” There was a pleading note to the words. This mattered to him. For whatever reason.

She nodded.

“Just remember it’s just you and your dog. That’s it.” And then he turned away. “Continue,” he said over his shoulder.

* * *

If asked later what exactly happened she wouldn’t be able to recall exactly. She remembered turning back, watching Bandit for a moment, and then taking a deep breath and releasing her from her stopped position. The dog had leapt into action quickly and smoothly.

And then it had simply…worked. Like it had never worked before. She kept remembering his words. _They simply do not care about you_. She kept remembering that she was boring, that she was still, that they were watching Bandit and she was able to let go a little.

Oh, there had still been the bobble or two when she was late and Bandit rushed in just a little too close. But she had somehow manage to save those moments, pulling the dog back and allowing the sheep to settle before pressing forward.

Bandit responded like a dream, of course she did, and when she had finally closed the gate on all five sheep, she felt such an amazing bit of relief that she didn’t even hear the cheering.

It started with David Nolan, substitute judge and general supporter, and then Gold had picked up the applause. He had looked proud. No. More than proud. There had been something shining out of his eyes. Respect, maybe love. It warmed her all over and she finally found herself smiling. Just a small one at first, but as more and more people realized something _good_ had happened, her smile got bigger, wider, until it almost hurt.

She reached out and hugged Bandit, who swiped a tongue across her cheek in answer. “We did it girl,” she whispered.

And then Gold was there, standing next to her and offering her a hand to stand back up. “We _did_ it!” she shouted and pulled him in close to her.

She kissed him right there. Right in front of everyone. She didn’t even care and she was thankful that his arms wrapped around her, however briefly.

“I told you that you could do it.”

She pressed her forehead against his. “I should know by now to not argue with you.”

“Of course not,” he responded with and they walked off arm in arm. There were people to thank, celebratory Champaign to drink. And if she had _her_ way, a very long and wonderful night to celebrate her success.


	29. Chapter 29

Three more times. Three more times he invited people up to the house and allowed them to tromp across his property, enter his house, his sacred sanctuary. Three more times and Belle was absolutely perfect. She was terrified to start with each and every time. But he would watch as she took a few deep breaths, met his eyes for a moment, leaned down to scratch Bandit between the ears.

He watched her release the dog and each time it seemed she did it with a little bit more confidence. The shake to her voice as she spoke was almost gone by the second time and completely gone by the third. By the time she walked out to the field the fourth time, she walked with a confidence in her step that he hadn’t seen before.

Or at least, not since she had strode into his life in her high heels and ridiculously short skirt and demanded a job mucking out a sheep barn.

She had completely upended his life. She had brought a sense of contentment he couldn’t ever remember having. She had brought… _dare he even admit it?_...happiness. He returned from errands and felt _happy_ at coming home. His house wasn’t the lonely one up on the hill. It was his home. And it was Belle’s.

And it was going to be Baedden’s, come hell or high water.

He had spoken to so many lawyers in the past few weeks. While Belle had been out on the field practicing, taking care of getting the sheep out to the hill and back in from grazing each day, keeping an eye on Dove, he had been making phone calls and sending letters. Milah had dumped her first lawyers after they told her she didn’t have much of a case. With Baedden’s making a decision and writing a statement to the court about his wishes, it meant Milah’s chances of keeping him were dwindling and dwindling fast.

So she dumped the first lawyers and brought in a team known for harshly prosecuting fathers and digging up any sort of dirt. The fact that he was still single was detrimental to their case, certainly. And his lawyers had been pressuring him to perhaps find someone.

He hadn’t told them he _had_ someone.

And he wasn’t going to allow the custody case to sway him in such a way. He would win fairly and without dragging Belle down into the muck with him. It was a dirty fight and if he asked her to marry him, and he couldn’t say the thought hadn’t crossed his mind, it was going to be because _he_ wanted to, not because a bunch of lawyers told him he needed to in order to win his case.

He spoke to Baedden more often these days. His son had introduced him to something called _Skype_ and it was such a relief to see his smiling face on the screen of his computer that he sometimes felt speechless.

_When am I coming to live with you?_ Baedden asked, more often now as things continued to drag on.

_Soon, son, soon_ …And he sent a silent thought to whatever deity might exist to end the whole thing and bring his boy home.

They could be a family. Him and his son and Belle. A proper family. The kind of family he always wanted. With a wife who adored him and a son who loved him and a whole big group of sheepdogs to keep them company.

It was one evening when Belle was out and he was talking to his son that he realized he loved her. _He loved her_. He wasn’t even sure how the thought had come about. One moment his son had been talking about the latest game that had come out that he really wanted and the next he said something about Belle… _I can’t wait to show Belle!_...and he realized, as he felt a strange clenching feeling in the middle of his chest, that he loved her.

_Dear God_ …

Thought of marriage, frankly, scared the hell out of him. His first had been so incredibly disastrous and that still hung so far over his head, that the thought of repeating it, of living it all over again, left him with a cold feeling of dread.

“Bae?” he had asked and at the strangely serious tone to his voice, his son had drawn up short. "What do you think of Belle?" The words came out in a rush and he watched as his son shrugged.

"I like her."

"Good," Gold answered, quickly. "Good then. I…"

"Are you gonna ask her to marry you?" His son sounded half curious, half annoyed. And he wasn't sure if he was annoyed at the thought of it or at his father for hesitating over it. But leave the boy to cut right to the heart of the matter.

_Was_ he asking his son's permission?

Maybe so.

"Possibly." Did he want to? Could he put himself through that again? Put his heart and his entire life on the line? Put his _son's_ heart on the line?

"I think you should," Baedden said and there was a grin playing about his lips. Then he watched as he glanced over his shoulder and leaned forward. "I gotta go." A pause, another look. "I love you, Dad."

And then the screen flickered and he was gone. Gold never even had a chance to return the sentiment. But his mind was really too muddled up to do much of anything at the moment.

_He loved her, dammit all_.

He hadn't realized how deep he was in until he was already drowning. Nowhere to go then but up.

* * *

"You've got this," Gold was saying to her. She was ready to step out onto the field. Any time now. The previous shepherd was just about done, his dog running circles around the sheep, only two in the pen.

"His dog is moving too fast," she murmured.

"Yes." She glanced at Gold for a moment and saw that he was smiling.

"What?"

"You've got this," he repeated.

Things had gone much smoother this time around. Cora had still attempted to intimidate. Belle had still put her in her place. But this time the rebuke was sharper, hotter. It meant more, somehow. And when Cora had insinuated that things would go horribly awry for Belle and that her daughter would win, he had simply stepped between the two and turned away from Cora, successfully herding Belle away from the older woman.

_I'm not sheep_ , Belle had said and Gold had laughed. Actually laughed. People around them turned to watch, eyes wide, eyebrows up. As if they had never heard such a sound coming from him before. And maybe they hadn't. She well remembered the overly serious Gold she had first encountered.

A sound came from the bag slung over Gold's shoulder and his eyes lit up even more. "I have a surprise for you," he murmured, fishing around in his bag. The sound was louder as he pulled his tablet out of the bag and swiped a finger across it.

"Dad!" she heard coming from it. Baedden's excited voice, tinny though it was, came from the tablet. "Did I miss it?"

"Nope, son." She could hear the fondness in his voice. "She's right here."

He turned the tablet so she could see Baedden's face. When hers was in the little picture off to the side, she waved. "Hi Bae!"

"Hi Belle!" he said and waved back. "I wanted to see your big trial!"

Her heart melted just a little bit. "I'm glad you're here for it." And she meant the words, too. She cared about Baedden as if he were her own child. And that surprised her. She'd only known him a handful of days but she knew he was a special kid.

Gold turned the tablet back toward himself.

"Get out there," Gold said and before she could turn away, quickly reached out and gave her a hug. Just one small squeeze. Her eyes searched his face. There was something there, something she hadn't seen before, something tentative and wonderful all at the same time. She smiled, kissed him on the cheek and when he stepped back, she turned and walked purposely onto the field with Bandit.

As she stepped to the post, crook in hand, Bandit in a sit to her left, the sounds of the crowd dimmed around her. She focused on her breathing. One breath. Two. Deep, easy. It steadied her nerves and so when she was given the go ahead to start, she released Bandit with a simple, quiet command.

"Away to me." And Bandit did as she asked, moving counter clockwise away from her, shooting off to her right in a beautiful arc that ended with perfectly lifted sheep. The five sheep that the trial shepherds had separated from the rest made their slow and stately way down toward the first set of drive panels.

She whistled Bandit to slow down, to stop. And the dog listened, coming to halt exactly where she wanted to. The sheep settled and Belle sent Bandit just slightly around the sheep, slow and steady. Gold was right about that much at least. Slow and steady won the trial. There was no need to rush the dog and the sheep. She saw what happened when one rushed them.  The dog gets stressed and grabs the sheep. Instant disqualification.

So she couldn't let that happen again. Slow and steady. Slow and steady. The dog moved closer to the sheep and the sheep burst forward, but then Bandit pushed around the outside, stopping the couple who were thinking about making a break for it.

And then the sheep were through it, moving as almost one, with Bandit just slightly behind them. She let out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding as all five sheep made it through the drive panels.

Belle was concentrating so hard, she didn't even hear the audience applaud. They were watching, but she wasn't aware of it. She was locked into her own little world. Just her and Bandit and five sheep. She remembered telling Baedden it was a video game with live players and it felt that way. Move the joystick in the right way and the dog would move the sheep where she wanted them to go.

She let Bandit go then, allowed her to drive the sheep straight to her. This was something Bandit _knew_. Something she was expert at. _Trust your dog_. Gold had drilled those words into her mind over and over again. _Trust her. She knows her job_. And she did. The sheep came directly to her in an almost straight line that Bandit only once had to correct.

A whistle and Bandit moved around the sheep. Two sharp whistles and she stopped. The sheep moved off a little bit, but then slowed. Bandit crept up. The sheep were pushed further away, the line to the next set of gates straight on. This was the hard part. Sheepdogs frequently brought sheep directly to their handler. But driving them away, pushing away from the handler where the dog can't see them is the hardest part of a novice course. She had failed here before. It was so _easy_ to fail.

But not this time. This time she was determined. She took a deep breath and allowed Bandit to drive them forward. She shifted her a few times, a whistle to the left, one to the right, kept the sheep moving in the same forward direction.

The judges were looking at the line of the sheep. A crazy erratic line was worth less than a nice straight line. And so while the line bobbled a little bit, while she had to correct and then correct again a few times, the line was fairly straight.

Just as they got to the drive gates, she watched it all start to fall apart. Bandit moved in too quickly, the sheep started to scatter. Two went through the gates, then a third, but Bandit was losing the other two who were looking more and more likely to bolt. Belle started to feel that familiar feeling of dread.

But then she remembered Gold. And Baedden. And all that he had done for her. She took a deep breath and whistled Bandit into a quick stop before sending her around the straggling sheep and pushing them forward.

And then she almost closed her eyes. She didn't want to see if it all went to hell. And yet she couldn't look away as first one and then finally the second sheep pushed through the drive gates. It was messy. It was absolutely imperfect. But it was beautiful. She had to stop herself from letting out a little squeal. She wasn't don, after all. She had to keep concentrating.

The dogs needed to come around the drive gate and back to her. And they did exactly that, turning as Bandit came around them and pushed them back toward her.

She stepped to the pen. Just a small metal contraption in the middle of the field. But it was the end of the course. Here dog and sheep and handler all came together to finish as one entity. Handler using crook to guide the sheep, dog pushing them forward, and then the gate shuts. And it's all over.

As the sheep got closer, she slowed Bandit and opened the gate. This was a tricky move, the hardest for a novice handler and sometimes it even flummoxed the more advanced handlers. So she took it easy, took the time to try to do it _right_. She'd rather run out of time for the course than rush this and screw it up.

So she took a deep breath and switched to quite voice commands. She didn't use those very often, the dog often working too far for the voice to carry to her. But here when it was quiet and intimate she was able to speak softly to her, guide her.

"Walk up." Bandit moved forward. "Slow." Long, drawn-out. _Speak slowly and the dog will slow. It's as simple as that, Miss French_. "Away to me." Bandit moved around the flock, counter clockwise. "Stop." She had Bandit right where she wanted her, the sheep directly between the dog and the pen. If she just moved forward, just a bit, slow and easy. "Walk up." Bandit moved. The sheep moved with her.

And then one at a time, they entered the pen. Belle stood at the gate and watched the first, the second, and then the last three crowd into the little pen. One command to Bandit pulled her back from the sheep and she shut the gate.

For a moment, she just stared at the sheep, turned and watched Bandit. She didn't hear the clapping. She didn't hear Gold's shout. Couldn't hear Baedden's shouting through the tablet. "That'll do," she finally said and walked back toward the gate. Bandit loped alongside her, tongue out, and made a beeline for the tub placed near the entrance.

It was where the dogs could cool off. And as Belle realized she felt warm all over, she almost wished _she_ could join him there.

"Belle!" She looked away from where her dog at long last and blinked hard. Once, twice.

"Tavish." She spoke his name almost in a daze. And then she realized what she had done. "Tavish!" And this time his name was shouted. "We did it!"

She rushed forward, pushing the gate out the way and running straight into his arms. She didn't care who saw them, didn't care what anyone thought. And he wrapped his arms around her as he tugged her in close. "No, _you_ did it."

She pulled away slightly. "It wasn't just me. It was Bandit. And you. You did this. You made this possible."

"Oh Belle," he whispered.

"Dad!" she heard come from the tablet.

"Baedden!" she shouted and pulled the tablet up to where she could see him. His grin was a mile wide.

"Congrats!" the boy shouted. "That was _awesome_."

"It was, wasn't it?" Gold said and she glanced up at him. His eyes were warm, kind. There was pride there, in the set of his mouth, in the eyes.

"It was," Belle agreed.

"I think Dad has something he wants to ask you," Baedden suddenly said and she didn't think it was possible, but his grin widened even further. "Gotta go!" he shouted and the screen went blank.

"Tavish?" Belle cocked her head slightly to the side as she looked away from the darkened tablet and met his eyes.

"Yes, well…" He glanced down at his feet for a moment and then looked up.

"Great job Belle!" came the voice from behind her.

"Nolan," Gold muttered.

"Thank you." She accepted the hug he offered and then hugged Mary Margaret as she came up behind him. "I still can't believe…"

"You had a good teacher," David said, reaching out to clap Gold on the shoulder.

Gold glared at David for a moment before speaking. "Yes, well, about that…" She watched as he gave a strange gesture to David and the other man shook his head.

"So is there going to be a next trial?" David asked.

"I don't know," Belle answered. She hadn't thought past this first one. She was only at the novice level. The extreme novice level at that, new dog, new handler. There was still a lot to learn, still so much Gold could teach her. If he were willing.

"Yes, yes, there will be other trials." Gold's voice was dry, almost annoyed.

"Only if you want to keep training me." She said the words with a wink and was happy to see him grin. There was a time when his sense of humor was sorely lacking, when any attempt at saying something funny was met with stony silence.

"Yes, well, about that…"

"Oh I think he'll keep training you," David chimed in with and she was surprised to hear Gold heave a huge sigh.

"Mr. Nolan," he said and the words were short, punctuated. "Could you _please_ give Belle and I a little time." He made a sharp motion with his hand and David stopped, gave him a look.

And then grinned. "Of course." He moved off, tugging Mary Margaret along with him and whispering something in her ear. Belle heard her say _Oh_ and then nothing else as they rushed off, laughing.

"I thought he'd never leave," Gold muttered.

"Is there something wrong?" She felt a small bit of dread roiling around in her stomach. Everything was going so well. With Gold, with his son, with the herding and Bandit and everything.

"What?" A furrow appeared between his brows. "No." He shook his head. "Nothing is wrong. At least, I don't _think_ anything is wrong." He gave her an assessing look. "I suppose it could be. Possibly. Soon."

Belle reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. "Tavish…"

"Right." She watched him swallow hard. "I didn't want to do this here. I wanted to wait until we had a quiet moment at home or at a restaurant or _someplace_. I had grand ideas in my head but then, well, Baedden. And so here I am."

"Here you are…"

"Belle, when you arrived on my doorstep and demanded a job, I was completely closed off. Not just to you, but to _everything_. To friendship. To love. To having any relationship with my son. I was a shell of a human being."

"Tavish," she started to say.

He held up a hand. "Just let me finish?” At her nod, he continued. “I was going through the motions, expecting that to be enough. But then this woman, this crazy woman in 4-inch heels and an impossibly short skirt pounded on my door and told me I _had_ to hire her. And I did. Out of spite. Never expecting her to open my heart, to repair the relationship with my son. To repair _me_." He put a hand over his heart. "My life is better and more complete than it ever has been before. And it's all because of _you_ , Belle."

She watched him for a moment then let out a gasp. "What are you saying?" There was a strange sort of urgency behind the words.

"I love you, Belle."

She felt her insides melt, felt the tears hot in the corners of her eyes. "Oh Tavish, I love you _so_ much." And then she was in his arms, his mouth on hers, his hands in her hair.

When they broke apart, he pulled her in tight to him. "Belle," he said and his voice cracked on the single syllable of her name. "I don't want to lose you."

"You're not going to," she whispered against his neck. "Never."

"Then marry me." The words came out on a rush and she pulled back, searched his eyes. "I don't have a ring." He gave her a self-deprecating smile. "I wasn't going to do this here. But I'm yours. If you'll have me."

He let the words hang and she broke out into a huge grin. "Yes." She pulled away for a moment and then hugged him again, her hands going up to tangle in his hair. "Yes, of course yes."

They kissed again and she didn't even care if they had an audience, didn't care that she heard David Nolan shout something like _It's about time_ from across the way somewhere.

When they broke apart she reached up and put her hand on the side of his face and smiled. "I think we should go tell Baedden."

Gold nodded, his nose crinkling a little. "I'm sure he's dying to know your answer." She linked arms with him as she laughed. She hadn't felt this free, this happy in a _long_ time.

Together, she and Gold, along with Bandit, made their way back to his truck, ready to head home. _Truly_ her home now. And she wasn’t sure she could have imagined anything better.


	30. Epilogue

They stood hand in hand, waiting. People milled around them, voices calling to each other, cries of _I'll miss you_ and conversations shouted into cell phones. But none of that mattered. They were there. They were together.

"Are you ready for this?" Belle asked. She turned toward Gold and he briefly shut his eyes, squeezed her hand just a little too hard, before he turned and met her eyes.

"It's all I've ever wanted."

She smiled and pushed up on her toes, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. "Soon, my love." They had gotten more comfortable with each other, more willing to share in quick bits of affection and pet names. He called her sweetheart. She called him love. And they had fallen into that naturally in the last few months.

Everything had just…settled…after he asked her to marry him. He felt so much more confidence around her, brought her more and more into his world. They had gone to a handful of trials and Belle had been successful at almost all of them. Oh sure there had been bobbles. Mistakes made most of the time by her, occasionally by Bandit who was still young and sometimes a bit impulsive. But there had been no great disasters since that first one. He had watched her compete successfully against people who had many more years’ experience than she did.

She told him, once late at night, that she was thankful for all he had given her. A new life, love, a family. She was an orphan, in a way. Mother long gone, father now gone as well. Yet somehow she had found her way into _his_ family. And it just felt right. Even though the wedding was still a ways off. Not long now though. A few weeks. They had planned something very small, just a handful of people at the house, the dogs. Dr. Archibald Hopper, town psychiatrist, doubled as the town's Justice of the Peace and would come to the home to marry them. He had introduced her to the soft-spoken man soon after he’d asked her to marry him and she had taken an instant liking to him.

"It's here," Gold said and he coughed, trying to disguise the way his voice cracked on the final syllable.

She stepped in close to him, wrapped an arm around his waist. "You're nervous."

He turned slightly, met her eyes. "Yes, well…"

"He wanted this," she pointed out.

"He did."

"And you fought for it." He had fought and fought hard. In the end, Milah, who had been faced with the possibility of social workers and child psychiatrists invading her house and life, of having everything disrupted, had simply thrown in the towel.

Gold had been ready to go to court. He had his lawyers on his side. He had Belle there to support him. His son had been ready to stand up and testify that he wanted to come live with his father. It had all been in place, including Belle's role in his life and her willingness to love Baedden as if he were her own child.

And then Milah had simply walked out of it. It was _too much work_. And the truth was she didn't care enough. She had _never_ cared enough. She had her new paramour and he was more important than hanging onto the son she had never really wanted.

She had signed away all her parental rights without looking back. In the end, they had agreed to a reverse arrangement of the one they had had before, with Baedden visiting his mother for two weeks out of the year and living the rest of the year with his father.

He had won.

Without ever having to fight.

And today everything changed. Today his whole life shifted and became the one he had always hoped for but had never thought he could actually have. Truth be told, he expected to die alone and lonely, a corpse discovered when someone noticed that his truck hadn't been moved in a few weeks and the sheep were making horrible noises in the barn.

But now he had Belle.

And Bae.

The bus was pulling in, carefully maneuvering into its designated spot. Gold remembered waiting here, not really all that long ago. A handful of months, nothing more. He remembered the nerves then. Nerves of a different sort. He had been out of sorts, anxious, and in many ways looking forward to the whole thing being over.

He loved his son. He had wanted him with him _always_. But every year he came and every year it just got worse. Until this year. Until Belle.

“This wouldn’t have happened without you,” he murmured. His eyes never left the bus but he leaned down and pressed a kiss into Belle’s hair.

“It would have,” she responded with and she sounded so _sure_ of herself.

He glanced at her for a moment. “I don’t think it would have.”

She was going to say more. He was sure of it. Belle had such confidence in him, in Baedden. She never seemed to really know the force she was, the force she had become in his life. Maybe someday she would understand.

But that would come later. The door to the bus had opened and people were starting to pile out. He had expected Baedden to be first. Usually he made sure he sat up near the front of the bus, where the driver could see him if he glanced in the rear view mirror. But this time he was fourteenth off the bus.

He knew because he counted every damned person getting off the bus before he saw his son.

And then Baedden was there. His backpack was slung over his shoulder and he stopped after he hit the ground, looking around him. Belle shouted his name. Of course she did. And then his son looked up and it was like a ray of light. A smile broke out on his face and he waved one hand excitedly at them.

He was _happy_ to see them. No longer the sullen kid who got off the bus year after year but a kid who was genuinely happy to see them both.

“Papa!” he said, rushing over to them. And then he was hugging Gold. And Belle was hugging them both.

And it was perfect.

Utterly perfect.

“Are you ready to go home, son?” His voice was choked with emotion and he felt Belle squeeze his arm. Baedden nodded and they stepped off together, one of his arms around Baedden, the other around Belle. His own perfectly imperfect family. He couldn’t imagine anything better.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you ALL so much for being with me through this whole story. The amount of support this story has received has blown me away. Every comment and kudos received has meant the world to me. Without you guys this wouldn't have been possible!


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